


Cas?

by ComicBooksBro



Series: I’d like to start by apologizing to Dean for doing this to him [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Butt Plugs, Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Come Eating, Crying Dean Winchester, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dean gets carried around a lot, Drugged Dean Winchester, Drugged Sex, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, M/M, Non-Con isn't Cas/Dean, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Rape, Repressed Memories, Rescue, Scared Dean Winchester, Sex Slave Dean Winchester, Sex Toy Dean Winchester, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Sick Dean Winchester, Traumatized Dean Winchester, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro
Summary: In which Dean is captured by a shapeshifter that wears Cas' face and uses him for a sex toy.Then Cas and Sam show up to save him, and Dean isn't quite sure how to Deal.(The first chapter is short, but future chapters will be longer. :))
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Series: I’d like to start by apologizing to Dean for doing this to him [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141340
Comments: 122
Kudos: 272
Collections: General Darkness ‘n Shiz





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Woah. So this happened. This first chapter is very short, but future chapters will be longer.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please consider leaving a comment or a kudos if you liked the first chapter. :3
> 
> <3

Sewers are disgusting, in Dean's humble opinion. They're wet, smelly, and generally un-fun to be in. But shapeshifters are dangerous, and this one particularly so. Judging by the disappearances in the town, the shifter has killed at least a dozen people, if not more.

So him and Sam are going to kill it, as they do.

Something squishes under Dean's shoe. It feels fleshy. He looks down, and finds a bloated mouse corpse. Grimacing, Dean clears his throat to get Sam's attention, and Sam looks up, annoyed.

Dean points down a tunnel and gestures for Sam to head that way. His brother nods and starts down the pipe, mouthing _'stay safe'_ at Dean. Dean walks the opposite way. The pipe should curve around somewhere between them and let them corner the shifter without too much trouble.

Dean steps up, onto a dry area in the middle of the curve and looks around. Still no shifter. He steps forward again and--

There's a splash behind Dean. Then another. It sounds like footsteps. He turns around.

"Cas?"

He says that, but whatever is standing in front of him clearly isn't Cas. He's back at the bunker with a broken wrist. But the shifter should be in front of him, not behind.

_Wait, fuc--_

Something hits Dean in the head, and his mind goes dark.

***

Dean wakes up tied to a pole, kneeling. He raises his head, vision bleary, and looks around the room. He's in a dark, dungeon-esque room. There's a heavy-duty iron grate next to him, and a door across from that.

Dean also notes that he's only in his boxers. Goosebumps rise on his skin.

The door clicks open, and Cas walks in. But again, it's not Cas. His eyes are a dead, hungry, violent-looking blue, and he licks his lips. Dean shivers under the shifter's gaze.

"Hello, Dean."

"Where am I?" Dean growls, jerking against the restraints on his wrists.

"Home," the shifter says eerily. He tilts his head and takes another step forward.

"Try again," Dean huffs, trying to conceal his pain as he attempts to dislocate his thumb. There's nothing in the room to help him, or even give him a clue as to where he is.

The shifter crouches down until he's face-to-face with Dean, then reaches forward and grabs Dean's jaw and tugs forward. "Quiet." The shifter stands again and twists his hand in Dean's hair. Dean lets out a yelp of surprise and pulls back, smashing his head against the pole he's tied to. His vision goes fuzzy, and the shifter doesn't let go of his hair.

What he does, is smash Dean's head against the pole again.

"The fuck?" Dean slurs, trying to jerk himself out of the shifter's grasp. He makes an attempt to kick the shifter, but his vision is completely skewed and he misses.

Dean's head slams against the pole two more times. He can taste copper.

"This," the shifter begins, his voice like liquid mercury , "is your new home, my name is Castiel, and you need to get used to this."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a (literal) taste of what's to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for this shitshow of a year to be over?

It's been close to three days since the sewer, and Dean has been alone since the shifter slammed his head into the pole he's still tied to. He has a concussion, he knows that much, but it's not as bad as it could have been.

That being said, his situation is incredibly bleak at the moment. He hasn't had anything to drink, and the room is starting to swim around him. He slumps forward, pulling his knees to his chest. He keeps telling himself that Sam and Cas will show up and get him out of here and he'll be _fine,_ but he's having more and more trouble believing it.

The door opens, and Dean lifts his heavy, cottony head. The shifter, in Cas' body, smiles and waves.

"Hey, buddy! You hungry?"

Now that Dean is looking, he can see what looks like a take-out box in the shifter's hand. His stomach growls. There's also a bottle of water, and Dean thinks he's going to die of need.

"Fuck you," he hisses.

"Actually," the shifter says, smiling as he puts the box and the water down. "That's exactly the plan."

Dean can feel the blood brain from his face. "What?"

"I expected you to be smarter." The shifter says, shaking his head as he unbuckles his belt. "I said, essentially, I'm going to fuck you." The shifter smiles and drops his belt to the ground. Dean takes note of the bulge in the front of the shifter's pants and cringes away.

"Aww, baby, don't be like that," the shifter coos. He reaches down and brushes his thumb over Dean's lips. Dean turns his head away and closes his eyes. He wishes he was strong enough to fight back, but he can barely keep his eyes open.

"Hey, it's okay." A hand strokes through Dean's hair. He shivers as the shifter speaks again. "We can start slowly."

Dean doesn't want to start at all. The hand in his hair moves back to his lips and a thumb pushes itself into Dean's mouth.

Dean bites down, hard.

The shifter jerks his hand back, his face an expression of shock and pain. Dean hates the way that it looks on Cas' face, but the reminder that this is the shifter gives him a sense of satisfaction.

Dean smirks and spits the slip of ripped skin out of his mouth. He might not be able to escape, but he can make the shifter hurt.

This, of course, gets him punched in the face. Still, Dean thinks it's worth it. The shifter hisses and launches himself forward, grabbing Dean's by the hair on either side of his head. Dean tries to pull away, but the shifter is too strong.

"Well... if you're going to try to bite me, we'll have a problem." The shifter pushes his fingers forward, curls them around the back of Dean's jaw, and pulls. Hard. Something pops, and Dean can hear himself make a horrible sound in the back of his throat. The shifter pulls away, and Dean tries to shut his mouth on instinct, but can't.

Shit. He can't close his mouth. He can't fucking--

He can't close his mouth.

No. _No._ This isn't happening. This can't be--

The next thing Dean knows, there's a dick in his mouth. It hurts, everything hurts, all so badly, and he's too weak to pull away. Tears he didn't know he could cry roll down his cheeks.

He closes his eyes again, and takes it.

He takes it and take it and _takes it._ It never seems to end. Dean can't do anything but close his eyes and pray for it to end. Weak moans of pain are all Dean can manage, and he has all but lost control of his jaw. He can hardly can hardly breathe around the shifter's cock. And when the shifter comes, Dean chokes on it. He tries to spit it out, and fails. The shifter fucks into Dean's mouth a few more times before pulling out and bending down to watch as Dean splutters and continues to choke on come.

"Ahh-ah-ah-- _swallow."_

Dean relaxes his throat and lets the come drip down his throat. It's salty and slimy and makes him want to puke as his empty stomach tries to reject it.

"Good boy," the shifter says, petting Dean's cheek. Dean whines, spit and come dripping from his slack mouth. All he wants is his jaw back where it should be. He doesn't fucking care about how thirsty he is, he just wants to be able to swallow.

The shifter reaches around and holds Dean's jaw again, then pushes back. Somehow, the bone pops back into the right place, and Dean sobs in relief, working his jaw to swallow the come that remains in his mouth. He doesn't want to know what will happen if he spits it out. At least not while he's like this.

"How're we feeling?" The shifter asks.

Dean lowers his head.

"Water?" The shifter offers.

Dean nods and watches as the shifter opens a bottle of water. He raises his head and opens his mouth slightly. The shifter tilts the bottle forward and Dean resists the urge to groan as the water passes his lips. He drinks as much as he can, mourning the loss of the water that dribbles past his lips. It's lukewarm and a little plasticky, but it's fucking _water_ and Dean _needs_ this.

Oh. Shit.

Colors have started to bleed into each other, and the room is spinning even more than it had been earlier.

The water is drugged. Of course it is.

Dean turns his head and makes an admittedly pitiful noise. His stomach turns, but he doesn't throw up. He doubts there's even enough of anything in his body to let him. His eyes slip shut involuntarily. Everything feels slippery and spongey, and his head tilts to the side again. He slides to the side and can feel the ropes holding his wrists tighten and twist. His skin is rubbed raw and, the turning of the rope just makes it worse.

The shifter pets Dean's hair and shushes him. "Hey, it's okay babe, just go to sleep."

Dean tires to hold his eyes open--tries to keep his awareness--but fails miserably. He can hardly form a coherent thought, let alone keep his eyes open and head up. The pet name the shifter used makes his skin crawl, but he's too tired to make his discomfort known.

Darkness seeps into his mind, unraveling his thoughts and making him feel like jelly. A weak moan crawls out of Dean's throat.

Where are Sam and Cas? Are they looking for him?

"Shhhh," the shifter hums. "Sleep."

Dean does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please leave a kudos or a comment if you liked it, and if you have something nasty you'd like to happen to Dean, leave a suggestion. I may not get to everything, but I'd love to try.
> 
> Happy almost new year!
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a little fucked up.

Dean is untied the next time he wakes up. He's still on the cold, hard floor, and his jaw hurts like hell, but the little bit of freedom makes his heart leap. His legs and arms are heavy, and his mind is fogged almost beyond thought, but he's less thirsty than he had been. Drugs aside, Dean feels slightly better, hydration-wise.

He lays there for god knows how long, just staring at the ceiling and hoping to be rescued. The room he's trapped it had already been studied inch for inch a couple days ago, so he doesn't bother looking over it again.

Before too long, Dean hears the door open, and turns his head toward the sound. The shifter--still in Cas' body--stands there, a curious yet cruel expression on his face. The door shuts behind him with a loud bang.

"Wear someone else," Dean mumbles.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the shifter says, sauntering forward. "This is who I am."

"Stop, you're not him." Dean curls into himself, looking away from the shifter.

"I'm not who?" The shifter tilts his head. "My name is Castiel. Who do you think I am?"

Dean grunts as he heaves himself into a sitting position. His stiff limbs protest, but he makes them work for him. "You're a rapist piece of shit wearing my boyfriend's face."

Something akin to hurt flashes across the shifter's face. "Dean..." He circles around Dean, seeming to scrutinize every bit of Dean. "I'm not wearing anyone's face--you're confused. I'm Castiel-- _your_ Castiel."

"My... my Cas would never do this," Dean grinds out. His jaw feels achy and swollen where it had been popped out of place and the words are clunky on his tongue. "My Cas loves me. He--he fucking loves me. He'd never do this." Dean feels his eyes burn. He wants to cry, but he's not able to. He has to hold onto the fact that Cas would never do this. If he doesn't have that, he doesn't have anything.

"I do," the shifter says. "I love you, Dean." He crouches a few feet away from Dean, eyes fixed on Dean's crotch. "I would never hurt you unless you deserved it."

 _"Don't,"_ Dean growls. "Don't pretend you're him." He pushes himself back, towards the wall and away from the shifter. Dean's jaw twinges, and he raises a hand to it.

"Still hurting?" The shifter asks. He takes off his trench coat as he speaks, discarding it into the corner and toeing his shoes off at the same time.

"Screw off, bitch."

The shifter lets out a irritated huff of breath and starts to unbutton his shirt. "Don't be like that." The dress shirt falls to the floor, revealing another, plain white shirt. Dean has never been more glad for Cas' multi-layered dressing habits. The shifter starts to pace in front of Dean, arms folded behind his back. "You know, I said we were going to take it slow, but with your jaw the way it is..." His eyes flick up to Dean's, cruel and dead, then back down to Dean's crotch. "I think we might need to speed things up a bit."

 _No. Fuck. Please don't._ Dean presses himself into the wall. He looks the shifter up and down, trying to come up with a plan of attack, and find out where the shifter keeps the key to the room he's trapped in. The trench coat, maybe? Dean can't let this happen to him. He can't--he just fucking can't.

He needs to get out. Now.

The shifter laughs, bringing Dean out of his tunneling thoughts. "You're so _innocent._ Oh, this is going to be such fun." He takes a step forward, closer, but not within striking distance. Not yet. "I am going to _destroy_ you." He strips off the shirt, revealing a tanned and well-muscled body.

Dean slowly gets his legs under him, repositioning himself until he's crouching. His chance is coming, and he needs to take it when it arrives.

The shifter steps forward again and runs his tongue over his teeth. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for my cock."

Another step.

"And other people's. Anyone who'll take your ruined body."

Step.

"You'll be my perfect little slut."

Step.

He's almost close enough. Just another couple feet.

"Ready, willing."

Step.

"Stuffed so full of come you won't be able to taste anything else."

Step.

"All sloppy and open for me, your angel."

One more step. That's all Dean needs. One more step.

The shifter takes it.

Dean launches himself to his feet, takes a swing at the shifter, and his vision blacks out for a second. His blow connects, luckily, and the shifter stumbles backwards, which gives Dean a second to recover. Shifters are strong, Dean knows that, but if he's caught the shifter by surprise, he might have a chance to escape.

His vision returns, thankfully, and he pushes himself off the wall he had fallen back against, fists clenched. The shifter hisses, his face twists into an expression of wrath, and he aims a punch at Dean's chest. Dean hurls himself to the side, into the pole, and clutches onto it like a lifeline. He strikes out, kicks the shifter in the stomach, and launches himself at the shifter, bowling them both over. He punches, scratches, and gouges, seemingly at random as he fights both the shifter, and the black fizzing at the edge of his vision.

The shifter screeches and pushes Dean off of him, which sends him sprawling across the floor. Skin and blood are lodged under Dean's nails, but he doesn't care. He scrambles back, towards the door, as the shifter stands and stalks towards him again. Cas' skin has peeled away in spots, which is horrifying, but it means that the shifter is hurt, and Dean has a chance to get out.

He needs to move, _now._ He pushes himself to his feet again, and is promptly slammed into the door by the shifter. Breath whooshes out of him, and he loses his vision again. He can't breathe.

Wheezing, Dean is manhandled back to the floor. His arms are forced over his head, and he can feel handcuffs click around his wrists. He tries to move his arms, and finds them chained to the pole. He hears the slide of fabric against skin, which can only mean that she shifter's pants are off. Dean lets out a little sob as the shifter straddles and grinds down onto him. His hips jerk back into the shifter's against his will.

"Oh, look at that," the shifter coos. "Already so hungry for it."

"No. Nonono." Dean knows it's weak, but he can't stop the desperate words spilling from his aching mouth. "Please don't do this. Please." His shoulders jerk as he sobs again.

"Just relax," the shifter soothes, sliding back onto Dean's pinned legs. Dean shivers as he feels fingers dip below him waistband and pull his boxers down. The shifter lets out a satisfied hum, and reaches forward to squeeze Dean's cock.

Dean shouts in surprise--he can't help it. He shuts his eyes tightly, and a couple of thick tears fall. He's too tired to fight back.

"You're so tense." The shifter gives Dean's cock a couple more rough prods before abandoning it and prying Dean's legs apart. Another weak whimper comes from Dean as he hears the click of a bottle of lube opening. There's a wet sound as it's squirted onto the shifter's hand, and it makes Dean's skin crawl. The shifter is keeping Dean's legs pinned apart, so he can't do anything but squirm as he feels a cold, wet finger push into him. It hurts, but Dean is grateful that the shifter is using lube.

Another finger breaches Dean after less than a minute, pumping in and out far too roughly for comfort, and Dean yelps. A moment later, the shifter adds a third finger, which brings more tears to Dean's eyes.

Then the fingers disappear, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. Blinking tears out of his eyes, he tries to cross his legs, but the shifter has them pinned fast. Dean, drawing on stale energy, bucks to the side, trying to dislodge the shifter. He fails, of course. The most he does is scrape up his own back.

"Dean, please. If you just relax everything is going to feel much better."

The shifter moves above Dean, and Dean can hear the shifter slick up his dick with lube.

"Eat shi--agh!" Dean's words are cut off as the shifter thrusts inside of him. More tears he can't afford to produce flood his eyes as the shifter plows forward. Dean feels like he's being split apart. He burns everywhere and swears he can feel himself start to bleed. Another choked noise escapes him and he shuts his eyes.

"Come on, babe, look at me," the shifter urges, thumbing over Dean's tear-streaked cheeks with an ungentle hand. Dean keeps his eyes shut tightly. The shifter pulls most of the way out, then slams back into Dean, drawing another pained shout from the hunter.

"Open your eyes," the shifter repeats, "or I'll claw them out."

Dean opens his eyes and sees the shifter smile with Cas' face.

"Good boy!" The shifter practically crows, forcing himself as deeply into Dean as possible. "You're listening _so_ well." He pulls out, then thrusts back in, starting up a rhythm. Dean bites his tongue and tries to stay as still as he can.

It seems to go on forever, the constant thrusting, the stretching, the pain. Dean is in agony. After way too long, the shifter's thrusts start to stutter, they become erratic and even more rough than before, until he finally topples over the edge and spills inside of Dean.

Which is when Dean realizes the shifter never put on a condom. _Fuck._ Dean lets out a small sob. _Fucking fuck._

The shifter--still inside of Dean--cards his hand through Dean's hair. "See? That wasn't too hard, was it?"

Dean feels disgusting, dirty, broken, _used._ He hates this. The shifter pulls out and walks across the room, leaving Dean cold, shivering, and naked as the shifter puts his own clothes back on.

The shifter returns a moment later and leans over Dean, a bright smile on his face, and a syringe in his right hand. "Say 'thank you.'" He even uses finger quotes.

_Asshole._

"Thank you," Dean mumbles. He's too tired to fight, and too worried about what could be done with that syringe to say anything but what the shifter wants him to. Seemingly satisfied, the shifter smiles, and Dean thinks, for a moment, that maybe the handcuffs will be unlocked and he'll be left alone.

Which, of course, is the moment that the shifter jabs the syringe into Dean's arm. Dean shouts as the liquid is injected, but doesn't jerk away. He doesn't want to be hurt any more than he already has been. The needle stings, and Dean knows he's going to have a bruise over the puncture tomorrow. It can't be anything other than drugs, either, so Dean stops fighting the inevitable, and relaxes against the gentle, cool fog seeping into his mind.

After all, it's better than pain.

***

It continues like that: Dean waking, weak, in a drug-induced haze. The shifter shows up, usually sooner than not, and Dean gets fucked. He stays quiet, and the shifter drugs him again before leaving.

Sometimes the shifter feeds Dean, sometimes he unchains Dean, and sometimes Dean ends up thrown across the room with a toy up his ass. It's all a game of fucking roulette, and Dean has no idea what will happen when, or if the shifter will throw something new into the mix. It's a nightmare.

But soon enough, Dean gets used to it. He stops thinking about escaping so much, and just learns to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please consider leaving a comment or a kudos. If you do I will love you forever. Or comment something you'd like to happen to Dean, whether it be non-con or something that happens after he gets rescued.
> 
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean suffers some more, has mild difficulty remembering the shifter isn’t actually Cas, and finally breaks.
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: This chapter takes place a few months after the last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos. Y'all are the sweetest. 
> 
> <3

"What are you?"

Dean looks at the floor, body aching. He's so tired, and feels empty, despite all the come plugged up inside of him. He shifts, feels the liquid move inside of him, and represses a pained moan.

"I said," the shapeshifter repeats, "what are you?"

"I'm..." Dean swallows and almost gags around the salty taste in the back of his mouth. "I'm your whore. Yours to control. And fuck. You own me." His stomach, tight and semen-filled, turns. He wants to throw up. The shapeshifter won't let him, though. If Dean throws up, the shapeshifter will make him swallow it back down or fuck it back into him, and Dean doesn't think he can take that.

"You own me...?" The shifter asks, gesturing for Dean to continue. Dean stays silent. He can't do this.

The shapeshifter scoffs with Cas' face and grabs Dean by the jaw, tilting his face up. Dean tries to look away; he doesn't want to see Cas' face took at him like that.

"What's my name, slut?" The shapeshifter hisses. Dean tries to cringe away.

"I don't know."

"My name," the shapeshifter says, throwing Dean to the floor, "Is Castiel."

Dean curls into himself, a small act of defiance. He's less hazy today, and his thoughts feel more clear. He knows who he is, and he knows who the man in front of him is, and it's not Cas. _Cas would never do this to you,_ he tells himself. _Cas would never whore you out to monsters, or fuck your face until you pass out. Cas wouldn't pump you so full of drugs you couldn't see straight or plug come inside of you until you could feel yourself start to rot._

He breathes, painful and moist. _Cas would never do this to you,_ he reiterates.

"Say it again," the shapeshifter coaxes. "Come on, what are you, and who am I? I know you can do it."

Dean doesn't think he can survive being hit again, so he speaks. "I'm yours, your slut, yours to fuck and to whore out. I'm yours, Cas-Cas-Castiel." 

_Not Cas. He's not Cas._

"Good boy," the shapeshifter says, leaning down to whisper in Dean's ear. "Such a good little slut." He ruffles Dean's hair, a surprisingly gentle action, before grabbing the roots of his hair and pulling him back to his knees.

Dean can feel tears welling up in his eyes. They wobble there for a few moments, blessedly obscuring his vision, before they fall and roll down his cheeks. He stays completely stock-still as the shapeshifter steps back, fiddles with his belt and pulls out his half-hard dick. Dean shudders and lets his mouth fall open. He's learned it's easier not to resist. 

The shapeshifter places his hands on either side of Dean's head, and guides his cock into Dean's mouth. Dean sucks, gagging around the bitter taste. His jaw aches. Dean closes his eyes--unable to look at the monster wearing Cas' face.

"Open your eyes," the shifter says.

Dean keeps his eyes closed and pulls back far enough to lick over the head of the shifter's cock before swallowing him down again. Maybe the shifter won't make him open his eyes if Dean makes him feel good enough.

"Eyes open," the shifter growls, readjusting his grip on Dean's head and pulling him forward, making Dean gag as the shifter's cock hits the back of his throat. Dean's eyes fly open and he struggles against it, but the shifter barely notices, and just fucks roughly into Dean's mouth.

Dean is drooling, spit running down his chin, and he's too out of it to stop. A few minutes later, the shapeshifter comes down his throat, hot and salty. Dean forces himself to swallow it all, and his shrunken stomach clenches in protest. The shifter pushes him away, and Dean lets himself fall to the floor again. He hugs himself weakly and whines as a bit of come oozes out of his puffy hole.

"Dean."

The shifter sounds so much like Cas that it hurts, and Dean can't help but tilt his head towards the sound.

"I'm having some friends over tonight. Remember, you need to show me you can be good, so don't fight back."

Dean nods weakly, tears still streaming from his eyes.

***

Dean is laying on his back, worked open, staring up at the water stained ceiling. He shivers as he waits for someone to show up.

People are talking outside in slimy, cold voices that Dean feels like choking on already. He can hear his name being thrown around, normally punctuated by a laugh. They think this is funny, and Dean can't blame them. He's notorious for killing monsters, demons, even gods--but he's here all the same, nothing but a warm hole for them to use.

Hilarious.

Staying as quiet as he can, Dean lets a couple of tears roll down his cheeks. He's done a lot of shit in his life, but he doesn't think he deserves this.

Maybe if he's good, Cas will--

Not Cas. He's not Cas. _Damnit._ It's the shifter. Not Cas.

He tries to calm his breathing, and almost succeeds.

The door to the room he's trapped in clicks open and Dean fights not to flinch.

 _Just close your eyes. Stay quiet, do what they want and it'll hurt less._ They like it when he's scared, which is easy at the least, because he's always absolutely terrified.

A rough hand tilts Dean's head up, and he opens his mouth on instinct. There's a satisfied hum from the monster on top of him.

"You've got him well trained!" The monster shouts, presumably back at the shifter. There's laughter from the other room. Though, now that Dean thinks about it, he didn't hear the door close, so the monster's friends might be in the same room as Dean. Either way, Dean has no doubt that someone is watching. Denim rustles, and Dean can hear a belt being unbuckled.

He wants to tell the monster to stop, but Cas won't like that. He has to stay quiet, stay good.

Still, Dean yelps in pain when the monster thrusts in without prep, despite how loose and sloppy he already is. If anything, that just encourages the monster more.

"You like this, don't you?"

Dean shakes his head. "No," he whimpers.

"You do," the unknown man insists, thrusting forward painfully.

Dean thinks he can feel something jab at his stomach. He knows it's probably just his mind playing tricks on him, but he never knows for sure. Not throwing up is getting harder. The monster thrusts forward again, and Dean can feel old come ooze out of his abused hole. His stomach lurches at the thought of how many different monsters have come inside of him.

"Dean Winchester, whoring himself out to monsters." The monster chuckles. "What a world."

Dean whimpers as the monster picks up his rhythm.

_Thrust thrust thrust._

_Thrust thrust thrust._

_Thrust thrust thrust._

Dean's skin rubs up against the floor, raw and starting to bleed. He shudders, letting out an involuntary moan as the monster's cock brushes against his prostate. The monster braces his hands on Dean's shoulders and rolls his hips again.

Dean tells himself not to throw up and bites his tongue in an attempt to distract himself from the horrible pain in his stomach. The monster pulls out leaving Dean achingly--blessedly--empty. Then the monster flips him over and that's when Dean gets a look at the monster.

It's a vampire, teeth sharp. He hisses as he stares down at Dean hungrily.

Dean wants to crack a joke, or say something snarky, but can't bring himself to. He hurts too much, and knows doing anything that isn't begging will just get him hit.

Then the vampire grabs Dean's cock. Dean flinches. He's not used to this. Monsters will fuck him over and over again, but rarely will they pay attention to his own pleasure (as reluctant as that pleasure may be). The vampire starts jacking him roughly and it _hurts._ Dean lets out an embarrassing whine in the back of his throat as he feels himself start to harden under the vampire's hand.

Sparks of unwanted pleasure crawl up Dean's spine and he squirms against it, as a coil of warmth tightens in his belly.

"Look at you..." The vampire mutters, seeming to take pride in Dean's distress.

_Oh fuck._

Dean throws up, all over the vampire.

Watery, white ooze, everywhere.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in a cracked voice. "I'm sorry, I can--I can try again, I can d--" His head snaps back as the vampire's fist connects with his head.

_Damnit._

Dean's vision goes black.

***

He wakes up with a ball gag in his mouth, and a plug up his ass.

He feels almost drunk, all fuzzy around the edges and kind of floaty. _Drugged again_. Dean isn't surprised. As he gains further awareness, he realizes he's hard, achingly so. He groans and his hips stutter forward on instinct.

Dean resists the urge to rut against something--anything--if it means getting some sort of relief. It'll hurt, and the shifter will be beyond angry. He's not allowed to touch himself. His hand had gotten broken the last time he had tried. Dean doesn't know what more Cas can do to him without some serious body modification, and that is enough to kill any idea of getting the drug out of his system.

He's not exactly sure what happened after he passed out, but he can tell the shifter's 'friends' more than replaced whatever he had spit up.

Dean doesn't know the statistics behind these kinds of things, but this--being the living embodiment of a sex doll--can't be good for him. Regardless of whether or not that's what will get to him, Dean doesn't think he'll last much longer unless the shifter does something to improve the situation.

Sitting up is hard. Everything hurts, and Dean feels so full of god-knows-what that it makes him want to vomit again. He's stretched in places he shouldn't be stretched and tight in places that shouldn't be tight. He tries to spit the gag out, or push it away with his tongue, but that just serves to make him drool. Dean's hands are shaking too hard for him to unclip the gag, so he gives up. He doesn't see the point. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes again.

He doesn't know how much longer he can do this.

***

His head is still fuzzy when the door opens again. Footsteps approach, and hands circle around Dean's head and unclip the gag. He lets it fall from his mouth and it thunks to the ground.

Dean opens his heavy eyes and looks up. He can see a trench coat and a blue tie.

"Thank you."

"What?"

"Thank you, Castiel."

***

Dean shivers, curling further into himself. It's gotta be winter, it hadn't been too far off when Dean had gotten... taken? Kidnapped seems too tame.

But it's drafty, and Dean doesn't have any clothes. He shivers again, a full body shudder. He's _this_ close to begging to suck Cas-- _the shifter_ \--off to see if he can get a blanket or _something_. He'll die if he gets too cold, and Dean wouldn't really care if it didn't hurt so much. He can't feel his hands.

"Cas," he calls, his voice weak. He's doing this. Willingly. Fuck. This is exactly what the shifter wants.

"Cas!"

Nothing. No footsteps, no returning shout, no sound at all. Dean shivers again and blinks back tears. Dean doesn't think the shifter will let him die, but he's doubts the shifter is above almost letting him freeze to death.

"Cas..."

God, he misses Cas--the real Cas--not the shifter wearing his face.

"Cas, please..." A couple tears roll down Dean's face, unbidden. "I need you."

The door swings open. Dean doesn't know whether or not to be relived that the shifter has shown up, or horrified that he said the correct things to summon a serial rapist. On purpose.

"Hello, Dean."

 _You're not him,_ Dean wants to say. He stays quiet though, he needs help, and this is the only way he's going to get it: by being good.

"I need you," Dean whispers.

"Aww," the shifter walks forward and ruffles Dean's hair. "You've finally figured it out."

Dean leans into the shifter's hand, pushing himself forward before nuzzling against the shifter's thigh. He hates it, hates how easy it is to chase the contact, hates how warm the shifter's hand is, and how easy it is to close his eyes and pretend that the familiar hands touching him are Cas'. He hates it, but that can be used to his advantage.

Looking up through tired eyes, Dean waits for the shifter's next move. He tries to stay still, but can't stop the shivers wracking his body.

"You know what?" The shifter says, sounding and looking and _feeling_ far too much like Cas. "I think you've earned a break. How about it?"

 _Please._ Dean nods. "Thank you Cas,” he says, just like the shifter has told him to time and time again. He closes his eyes and rubs his cheek against the shifter's leg.

"Get up." The shifter snaps his fingers and steps away, and the loss of contact causes Dean to lurch forward, onto his hands.

Dean pushes himself to his feet, swaying slightly. He feels off-center, and counts himself lucky that he doesn't fall over, or onto the shifter. The side affects of not being drugged to the gills for once, he supposes. A hand lands at the base of Dean's spine and shoves him forward. He falls through the doorway and curls onto his side. The floor isn't as cold as it was in the other room, and it's wood, rather than rough stone. It feels like heaven.

"You're not being very good right now," Cas' voice says from across the room as the shifter closes the door to the other room. Despite what the shifter said, Dean lets out a sigh of relief. He's out. This is good.

"Sorry," Dean mumbles, forcing himself to stand again. “Don’t,” he stutters over the words, “don’t put me back. I can be...” He grimaces; “I can be good.”The shifter comes closer, a dark grin on his face, places a hand on Dean's shoulder, and pushes down.

"Prove it."

Dean drops to his knees, opens his mouth, and proves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! If you did please consider leaving a comment, they fill the hole where my soul used to be. (Also: suggestions for future chapters (whether before or after Dean's eventual rescue) are very appreciated.)
> 
> See you all in a few days! :3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT'S RESCUE TIME BITCHES!!!!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for being so patient with this update. I had it written, but when I went to post it I accidentally clicked 'cut' instead of 'paste' and deleted the entire chapter. I didn't have backups and needed to rewrite the entire thing, so that's why I'm late in posting.
> 
> I would also like to warn you guys that this is VERY un-betaed. I wanted to get it out as soon as possible, so it's not polished. 
> 
> ANYWAY--ONWARDS!

Dean forces his heavy eyes open and tries to focus on the wall in front of him. It's greyish for the most part, with a couple scuffs or holes in the drywall from when people got too excited, but it won't come into focus. His limbs feel heavier than bags of cement and his arm protests when he attempts to move it.

He knows that Cas had drugged him more heavily than he normally does, but Dean hadn't expected the effects to be so strong. Maybe Cas is planning on being gone for a while and doesn't want Dean to be able to hurt himself. That's most likely it.

Dean hadn't appreciated Cas' concern at first, and he still doesn't to an extent, but he understands it. All Cas wants is for him to be good and stay safe, and Dean owes that to him, especially after he was so bad. He has a hard time remembering exactly why he had been bad, but he had, and Cas had helped make him good again.

Dean doesn't know what he'd do without Cas.

He tries to move his arm again, and succeeds, but it takes far too much effort to be worth it. His vision goes back at the edges when he pulls his knees to his chest. He gasps in pain as the plug shifts inside of him brushes his prostate and his cock twitches under his worn boxers. He sluggishly grinds down onto the plug on instinct and groans.

Part of his penance from Cas is not being able to come. He still can in theory, but Cas will be mad if he does, and if Cas is mad, that means Dean will owe more. He's been bad enough as it is, if he piles any more on he's as good as dead. That makes him stop, and it's a good thing he does, because it's only a few moments later when he hears a door open, and heavy footsteps cross the hall in front of him.

Cas is home.

A minute or so later Dean hears another, softer set of footsteps, then a third set enters the house. Cas hasn't said anything about bringing people over to help Dean pay his debt, but sometimes he forgets to tell Dean things. The two new sets of footsteps separate, going opposite ways, and Dean squints, eyes unfocused, at the wall. Normally, anyone who Cas invites over just comes straight to Dean so they can fuck him. And the definitely don't split from Cas.

Someone shouts in shock, then anger, and Dean flinches as Cas yells an obscenity. The set of footsteps that isn't currently engaging with Cas come closer, and the doorknob tries to turn. It's locked, though, seeing as all it does is rattle. The person runs into the door once, twice, and the lock breaks on the third. On the forth, the door slams open.

Cas stands in the doorway. At the same time, Cas _screams_ from the other side of the house and Dean can feel all of his muscles lock up. Cas' hard, angry expression drops the second he lays his eyes on Dean. He runs forward, trench coat billowing around him, and kneels in front of Dean. The angel blade in his hand drops to the floor with a clatter. It clatters to the floor, and Dean looks down at it with blurry eyes.

"Dean," Cas breathes.

"Please don't," Dean whimpers, though he knows there's no amount of begging that will be able to stop Cas from doing whatever he wants. Still, Cas likes it when he begs, and all Dean wants is to make Cas happy.

"Don't what?" Cas asks.

"Don't..." Dean trails off, face burning in shame. "Don't--please don't fuck me with the angel blade." He looks at the floor. "Please. I'm good. I promise. You said I was good."

"No. Dean, I'm not going to do that. It's okay, Sam and I are here to take you home." Cas' voice is gentle, calm, and everything that Cas isn't. He raises his hand, gently cups Dean's face, and turns Dean's head to look at him. Dean tries to focus, but his eyes refuse to cooperate. The best he can manage is a fuzzy picture of the room.

"Sam?" He hears himself ask. _Who's--Sam!_ Dean can feel his breath catch in his throat. His brother is here. His _brother._ Who he had forgotten. How had he forgotten?

"He's... taking care of some things," Cas says, eyes flicking back to the door he came through. "He'll be here soon enough."

Dean nods and the motion almost makes his black out. "Thank you, Cas," he whispers, letting his head fall back against the wall and closing his eyes. He feels so heavy. There's a scream from somewhere across the house, but Dean is too tired to comment on it. He's too tired to do much of anything but try to look at Cas. He doubts he'd react--positively or otherwise--if Cas tries to fuck him. Dean imagines himself laying here, on the floor like a doll, as Cas fucks him, and him being unable to react--unable to be good. The thought would bring tears to his eyes if he was hydrated enough to produce them.

 _I need to be good,_ he thinks in a blind panic. _What does Cas want from me?_ Dean is too weak to be fucked right now, and his hands won't cooperate enough to give a decent hand job, which leaves blow jobs. All the needs to do there is open his mouth and swallow. 

_Okay. Blow jobs,_ Dean thinks. _I can do that._

He clenches and unclenches his half-numb hands a few times before quietly reaching up and pawing at the front of Cas' pants. He's clumsy, he knows, but he hadn't expected Cas to practically launch himself away from Dean. Dean flinches back into the wall, his heart suddenly thudding in his achy chest. The plug inside of him shifts and he fights a moan.

"Dean, what were you going to do?" Cas sounds shocked, but not angry. It still makes Dean's curdled feeling, semen-filled stomach tighten in worry.

"I was..." _Is this a test?_ Dean tries to push away the heavy fog in his mind so he can analyze the situation, but can't. It has to be a test. "I was going to give you a blow job." He looks up at Cas' still-fuzzy face. "Master," he adds. He normally doesn't call Cas 'master,' but it almost always leads to Cas going more easily on him--regardless of what they end up doing.

"Why were you going to do that?" Cas asks quietly, horror on his face.

There's no way this isn't a test. In the back of his mind, Dean remembers a time when Cas had tricked him before. He had said he was letting Dean out, and Dean had gotten halfway to the front door before Cas had tripped him, pinned him to the ground, and fucked him at the end of the hall, with the door in sight. Cas is lying, this is a test, he's not going home--this is his home, and he needs to be good.

"Because I'm yours," Dean says, his drugged mind tripping over the words as he repeats what Cas has told him so many times. "I'm your slut. Yours to fuck and whore out. You own me."

For some reason, that doesn't seem to make Cas feel any better. If anything, he looks even more horrified than before. He doesn't say anything, and Dean's stomach lurches in panic. "Did I do something wrong?" Dean asks. "I can be good," he promises.

Cas opens his mouth to say something, but it's at that moment someone appears in the doorway.

Sam. Dean blinks up at his brother and feels panic trickle down his spine. Sam is _huge,_ he's strong, and he's going to _tear Dean apart--_

No. Sam is his brother. Sam wouldn't do that, right? Sam is here to help. That's what Cas had said. Cas lies, though. Cas lies all the time, but Dean desperately wants to believe this. He wants to believe so badly it hurts.

Cas turns to look at Sam. "He's alive," Cas says, his voice low.

Sam nods and comes closer, still blurry. "Hey, Dean." He crouches next to Cas until they're both on the same level, and drops the duffle bag he's holding. "It's really good to see you."

"Sammy," he mumbles, forcing his eyes to stay open. Sam's shirt is covered in reddish stains; _blood,_ Dean realizes. "'Re you okay?" He slurs, trying to gesture at the bloodstains.

"I'm fine," Sam says, sounding slightly resigned. "Are you able to walk?"

 _No._ Dean nods slightly. "Yes." He needs to try. If he does well enough maybe they'll really let him out. "I can..." He braces his hands on the floor and tries to push himself up. He only gets a couple inches off the ground before he crashes to the ground again, and lets out a yelp as the plug jabs inside of him. Dean wants to sob; he can't do it. It's impossible, he can't stand, and now Cas is going to hold him down and fuck his face until he can't breathe anymore.

And then he's going to let Sam take a turn. Dean doesn't know how much more semen he can swallow without throwing up, but it's probably not much. Dean hiccups out a sob and turns his head away when Sam places a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean, it's okay. You don't need to walk," Sam assures, gently squeezing Dean's shoulder. "I can carry you, or Cas can."

Dean shuts his eyes and whimpers. "It's--it's--I need to. You asked me to. I can--I just--just n-ne-need a minute. Please. I can be good." He wants so badly to flinch away from Sam's hand, but that could make Sam mad. He just needs to take it. He can take it.

"We're not going to hurt you," Cas says calmly, though Dean can hear strain hidden in his voice. "We're here to help. You're confused, I know, but you need to believe me. I'm not going to hurt you."

Dean keeps his eyes closed, but nods. "Yes, Cas. Thank you."

"Can you look at me?" Sam asks.

_Please don't claw my eyes out._

Dean forces his eyes open, and looks at Sam's blurry face. Sam turns a bit to the side and unzips the duffle bag next to him before pulling out a flannel and a pair of worn out jeans.

 _Clothes?_ Dean hasn't been fully clothed in far too long.

"Can you put this on?" Sam asks, holding the flannel out towards Dean. Nodding, Dean grabs the flannel with numb fingers and fumbles his way into it.

"I.. I can't button it," he admits after a minute of struggling with the buttons.

"That's okay," Sam says sympathetically. "You don't need to." His eyes flick over to Cas, then back to Dean. "I'm going to lift you up, and Cas is going to help you into your pants. It's cold outside, so you need them."

Dean nods, and doesn't fight at all when Sam grabs him under the arms and lifts him into an almost-standing position. He doesn't even think he could. Boneless, Dean slumps in Sam's grip and tries to help as Cas tugs the jeans up over Dean's legs and buttons them. It's jarringly different from being pressed to the ground as some monster or another strips off his boxers and fucks him within an inch of his life.

If Cas notices when his hand brushes over the slight bulge in Dean's pants, he doesn't say anything. It's another, semi-regular side effect of the drugs, and one of Dean's least favorites. It's bad enough when Cas makes him get hard, but Dean hates it even more when the drugs make him do it.

Sam lets Dean lean against the wall for a moment before scooping him up like he is a child. Dean whimpers as the plug inside of him is jostled, but doesn't try to squirm away from Sam. It's so embarrassing, but Dean doesn't have the strength to do anything but nod along to whatever Sam and Cas want to do to him. His eyes drift shut as Sam starts walking, and he lets them. Cas says something, but Dean doesn't hear his name, or any variations of what Cas normally calls him, so he doesn't process the words.

He's barely aware by the time they reach the outside, and a rush of cold air is the last thing Dean feels before he drifts off into a drug-induced unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dean... I wonder how he's going to adjust to being back at home.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> ALSO: it has come to my attention that I hate the title of this thing, so if you have a suggestion, please leave one. 
> 
> <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sleeps a lot and Sam and Cas are properly disgusted with what happened to him.

Dean wakes up in a car.

He's so tired and achy that all he wants to do is go back to sleep, but he can't. He can feel adrenaline thrumming through his veins, trying--and failing--to burn away the drugs in his system, or to get him to panic, to run, to defend himself.

He doesn't sleep again, but he doesn't move either. The engine of the car rumbles, and it's familiar enough to bring tears to Dean's closed eyes. _Baby. I missed you._

He really hopes this isn't an hallucination or a trick.

"Is he okay?" That's Sam. The voice comes from in front of Dean, so Sam must be driving.

"He's still sleeping, if that's what you mean," Cas says quietly. He sounds so sad. It makes Dean want to move his aching body to the front of the car and blow Cas until he feels better. That tone of voice always hurts Dean. It makes his stomach clench, and Cas only uses it when Dean has disappointed him. Dean is lucky whoever moved him put him on his side rather than his stomach, too, because Dean has no doubt he would throw up is he had to lay on his stomach.

There's a long moment of silence in the car. Dean doesn't make his consciousness known. If Cas and Sam think he's asleep, he'll be able to learn their true intentions.

"Sam, there's something you need to know."

Dean holds his breath. Is Cas going to tell Sam everything he did? That he's the one who did this? Or is he going to hurt Sam and make him like Dean? _Please don't hurt Sammy,_ he thinks. _You can do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt Sam._

The car speeds up. Sam must be worried. "What?"

"Dean isn't in his right mind." Cas sighs, long and heavy. "He recognized me, but not as myself. He called me Cas, but all he can seem to remember is how the shapeshifter acted as me. He, he, I don't know exactly what was done to him, but it was horrible." There is a soft thud as Cas leans back against the seat.

"'Horrible' how?" Sam asks hesitantly.

"The first thing he did when I found him was beg for me not to--" Cas clears his throat "--Fuck him with my angel blade."

There's a sharp intake of breath from Sam that might as well stab Dean in the chest for all the hurt in it.

"And he tried to..." Cas trails off. He sounds pained, and takes a moment to compose himself before speaking again. When he does, his voice is void of emotion, like it had been when--when--before--

Dean doesn't know.

"He attempted to give me a blow job. Unprompted."

Sam remains quiet, and Cas does the same.

Dean doesn't understand, was that bad? Cas had told him he was being good in the past, that he liked the blow jobs. Maybe Dean had been doing them wrong. Should he have used his tongue more? Gone deeper?

"Did you--"

"I would never take advantage of your brother, Sam. I stopped him before he could do anything."

Dean feels the car slow down, then stop. A hitching hiccup of a sob wrenches its way from Sam.

"Can you drive?" Sam asks, sounding choked.

There's a jingle as keys are exchanged, and Cas slides into the drivers seat. Sam opens his door and walks around to the other side before he collapses into the passenger's seat. Dean can tell his brother is crying. It hurts.

The car starts moving again. Dean lets the sound of the engine lull him back into a drug-hazed sleep.

***

_Dean turns onto his aching side, wincing as his cracked ribs shift under the broken skin, and retches, spitting up a puddle of salty liquid and stomach acid. He shivers, feeling his entire body quake with energy he doesn’t have to give. He can feel hands in his hair, but is too weak to do anything but whimper._

_Cas' foot presses on his ribs and Dean gasps, then tries to wiggle away, but fails. That only prompts Cas to press down harder, and Dean yelps in pain, his voice humiliatingly high. He just wants Cas to leave him alone for an hour-—and hour is all he needs, just enough so he can sleep a little and maybe be able to form coherent thoughts again._

_Nausea pools and sticks in his stomach and he vomits again, this time some of it gets on himself. The shifter scoffs in disgust and steps away._

_“Clean yourself up.”_

_Dean looks up with bleary eyes. “I ca-c-can’t I—I—“_

_“Ah, shhh,” the shifter hushes. He leans down and presses a finger to Dean’s vomit-stained lips, then pushes it inside of Dean’s mouth. Dean wants to gag, and in another time maybe he would have bitten Cas, but he just can’t manage it. Anyway, it will only bring him more pain. “You’re going to clean that up, or things get a lot worse for you; understand?”_

"Dean!"

The car screeches to a stop, and Dean rolls forward--eyes shut tight--onto his stomach. He retches, spitting up bile and come, and only barely catching it in the arm of his flannel, which he hides by pressing the soiled fabric to his chest.

"Dean, hey, say something. Are you okay?"

Dean cracks his eyes open at Sam's worried voice. He's on the floor. At some point, he must have rolled off of the seat. Maybe that is what Sam is yelling about.  
"'M fine," Dean mumbles. He pushes himself up and into a sitting position, fighting against the urge to groan as the plug moves inside of him and a couple drops of come run out of his loose, stuffed hole. "Thank you," he says quietly, on instinct. He looks to the front of the car, eyes catching on both Sam and Cas' worried expressions.

"I'm okay," he reiterates. "I just fell. I'm sorry, I'll get back up." Dean scrambles onto the seat and sits up at straight as he can. "I can be good." The floor seems to drop out from underneath him for a moment as he leans back, and that's when Dean realizes it's been a few days since he's been allowed to eat anything but come, and almost two since he's had water. He considers asking for some, but he doubts his usual methods of soliciting food and water will work, seeing as Cas is now averse to blow jobs.

He expects Sam and Cas to immediately start up the car again, or maybe berate him for throwing up, but they stay looking worriedly at Dean. It makes Dean go cold all over. He just wants Sam and Cas to go back to driving and ignore him.

"Do you--" Sam breaks off his train of thought in favor of opening the glove compartment and pulling out a bottle of water before holding it out to Dean. "Here. Drink this. We'll get you more when we get back home."

Cas seems to take that as a cue to start driving, and pulls back out into the road. Dean relaxes slightly into the seat and fumbles with the plastic top of the bottle for a minute, but manages to get it off.

"Is it drugged?" Dean asks before he can think over what he's said. He thinks drugs could make him throw up again, and doubts Sam and Cas would want Baby covered in puke.

The car speeds up, and Dean can see Cas' hands tighten on the steering wheel. Sam looks a little pale, though that could just be the lighting.

"Drugged?"

"To keep me quiet?" Dean says, twisting the cap of the water bottle on and off. "So I'm easier to fuc--"

"No!" Cas interrupts, which makes Dean flinch. "No. It's not drugged. We're not going to drug you."

Sam flashes Cas a concerned look.

"I can take a sip first, if you want me to," Sam offers.

Dean nods and lifts the bottle to his lips before taking a small sip. It's good. He trusts it, and continues to take small sips as they drive. There's _so much_ of it, too. Dean hasn't been allowed an entire bottle of water in... in a very long time. He drinks half of the bottle before his body starts to protest. The bottle--recapped--goes to the right corner of the bench seat. Dean keeps an eye on it, waiting for it to disappear, or for Cas or Sam to take it away. That, or the extra drugs to kick in and knock Dean out. Possibly for good.

But none of that happens. The water stays where Dean put it, and he doesn't feel a second wave of sedatives invading his body. Without the water knocking him out, Dean stays upright and awake for several hours as Cas drives in silence. Sam dozes of at some point, scrunched up in the corner of his seat.

Quiet settles heavily over the car, pressing in on Dean. Silence is bad. If Cas isn't saying something it means Dean has been bad. It means that Dean is going to get hurt, or fucked so hard he wan't be able to remember where or who he is.

There's a small click of plastic from the front seat, and then music starts playing. Dean realizes that he hasn't heard music in a long time. He can barely recognize the tune, and can't name the song. It's soft, but still enough to lift the weight of silence. It takes Dean a few minutes to realize he's humming along, and he quickly stops. Cas, unfortunately, notices.

"You don't need to stop," Cas says, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "You don't need to continue, either," he adds quickly. "I won't be mad."

"Thank you, Cas," Dean whispers. He doesn't start humming again, and presses himself into the corner of the seat, intent on staying there for the rest of the ride, no matter how long that may be.

***

Dean is startled awake by the sensation of being lifted into someone's arms. He blinks rapidly, trying to adjust his still-muddled brain to his new surroundings. He's in a garage, one he remembers. The bunker. He's in the bunker.

His home. He lives here. He had blocked it out of his mind, apparently. Or maybe Cas had forced him to.

Dean looks up, and finds that Sam is carrying him. Panic flashes through him as he processes the sheer size of his brother. He could kill Dean in one hit if he wanted to. Luckily, the worry is simply on instinct, and it dissolves quickly. It's replaced with exhaustion, which isn't much of a shock. If Dean isn't high on adrenaline, he's usually doped up on some sort of drug, or passed out.

"Sammy?" He's not sure why he speaks, except maybe to prove to himself that he can. "Y'u can lemme down, I can walk." He tries to sit up where he's positioned in Sam's arms, but falls back almost immediately with a pained groan as the plug inside of him moves.

"No you can't," Sam answers shortly as he kicks the door open before walking through it. Dean flinches at both the sound and Sam's words, but doesn't doubt their validity. "Sorry," Sam sighs as he notices Dean's momentary fear.

"It was my fault," Dean says on instinct. "You can--" Dean cuts himself off as he remembers Sam's reaction when Cas told him about the blow job and angel blade. He goes quiet, and definitely does not think about the fact he has no idea where Cas is. Sam, thankfully, doesn't reply to his half-finished thought.

A few seconds later they enter the main room, and Sam carefully sets Dean down on a chair, which is pulled out from one of the tables. Dean winces again, and watches carefully as Sam pulls out a chair of his own and sits down.

"Hey, Dean. I'm not gonna ask if you're oka--"

"Where's Cas?" Dean asks, making himself as small as possible in the chair. The urge to sit on the floor _("Where you belong, slut,")_ is almost overwhelming, but Sam put him on this chair, and Dean doesn't think Sam would like it if he moved.

"He's getting some stuff from the Impala," Sam answers. "He should be back soon. He's not gonna do anything to you, if that's what you're worried about."

Dean smiles slightly at the lie. He wonders how long they're going to be able to keep up up without growing bored. Cas isn't particularly patient. Before long the whole ruse will disappear and Dean will be bent over with a dick in his ass and another in his mouth.

"I know you don't want to talk about this, but we need to know what happened to you," Sam says, keeping his voice even and calming. "You don't need to talk to Cas at all if that's what you want, but I need to know, okay?"

Dean nods and stops a laugh from bubbling up. Like there's anything Cas doesn't know. He did most of the things himself. He opens his mouth to answer Sam's question--like he could refuse anything--then stops. He has no idea where to start.

"Start small," Sam offers. "At the beginning?"

Dean squints at his brother. He can't remember when exactly everything started. He knows there was a _before,_ but all of that is hidden behind a thick curtain, mostly due to whatever drugs Cas puts in his system to keep him good, he assumes. Then there was the beginning, then the moment Dean became good, and now. Dean focuses on the beginning, or what he thinks is the beginning, anyway.

"I was... I was bad, so Cas put me in the--in the basement? I think it was the basement. I never got to see the whole house." Dean looks at the floor. He can't even answer a question as easy as that. He's so stupid.

 _'Just a hole to fuck,'_ Cas' voice says in the back of his mind. _'And even then, you're only half-decent at it.'_

Sam doesn't say anything, but he nods, confirming Dean's long-unanswered question and urging him to keep talking with a look. Dean scans the room for Cas, finds him still absent, and continues.

"I was down there and, and, and--I can't remember what happened first." He chances a look up at Sam, prepared to see anger. Sam just looks sad, though. Sad and worried. It's so genuine-looking that it makes Dean's chest hurt.

"I--I think he fucked me? Or made me give him a blow job? I can't remember." Dean shivers and his hole involuntarily clenches around the plug.

"He made you?" Sam clarifies. The heaviness of the question makes Dean scrunch farther into himself.

"Yes." Dean closes his eyes and keeps his head tilted to the floor. He can't look at Sam, but he can't refuse to answer questions either, so this will have to do. "I was-wasn't good at first. I didn't want to do it. Cas had to make me good. I'm good now." He takes as deep a breath as he can, and his vision fuzzes around the edges. "I'm good," Dean mutters to himself. He doesn't like talking about this.

"I hurt my jaw at the beginning. Cas fixed it for me." Dean picks at his cuticle. "I owed him, so I--he said I needed to be good. For him. I didn't want to, but I was wrong, so he forced me." Dean's cuticle splits and starts bleeding. He keeps picking at the ragged skin. "I didn't appreciate it. I, I, I do now. I love him." Dean forces himself to smile, like he's supposed to. "I'm still paying for being bad, and--"

"What do you mean, you're 'paying for it?'" Sam asks, eyebrows rising slightly.

"Sometimes he--sometimes Cas lets other people use me." Dean can feel his cheeks flush as he speaks. The reminder of his debit hurts, and he's learned to stop asking when it will be fully payed. Maybe never. He's been so bad. "They fuck me." He thinks, remembering what Cas had said when he had first started letting Dean pay back what he owed. "They're allowed to do whatever they want, as long as they don't kill me. I stay quiet when they want be quiet, beg when they want me to, and swallow everything so there's no mess." Dean represses a shudder at the thought of all the come he's been made to eat.

Sam doesn't say anything, but his eyes look wet, like he's trying not to cry.

"Did I say something wrong?"

A door bangs open behind Dean, and he spins around in the chair. His vision blacks out for a second, and when it returns he sees Cas, holding a couple duffle bags, including the one Sam had pulled Dean's clothe out of. The door shuts behind him, and Cas steps back into it, his blue eyes wide with worry.

Dean slides to the floor immediately. Cas wouldn't want him in a chair, and his authority overrides Sam's.

"Cas!" Dean kneels on the floor, but keeps his back straight. Cas likes it the he sits straight, it makes it easier for him to touch Dean's face. Cas grabs for the doorknob behind him, catches it after a couple tries, and backs into the garage, letting the door close behind him again.

Dean's stomach drops like a stone. What did he do wrong? Was he so bad that Cas couldn't stand the sight of him? And if he was that bad... what does Cas want him to do to atone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you're liking it. Comments and kudos are appreciated! 
> 
> Next time: Dean and Cas have a talk.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean talk, and Dean throws up.

Dean rocks back and forward, arms hugged around his legs, mind buzzing sluggishly. His range of motion had returned more completely, but he still had trouble thinking.

Sam had left a few minutes ago, to talk to Cas, he had said. He had told Dean to wait, and Dean had elected to do so under one of the tables. He doesn't feel safe out in the open.

He sighs, eyes on the ground, and rocks forward again. The movement jostles the plug inside of him, but he can't seem to stop. It doesn't feel good, either, it just hurts: pushing and pushing and stirring the liquid inside of him.

He's not sure if he wants to talk to Sam. Sam is nice enough, and he hasn't tried to do anything but help Dean, but he's _too_ nice. The stuff he lets Dean do--the sitting on the chair, offering him the water bottle, just the simple _kindness_ in his small gestures--are all things that will land Dean in hot water with Cas. He doesn't deserve the chair. He hasn't earned the water. He's not even a person, so why is Sam treating him like one?

It hurts more because Dean knows it's temporary. Before long Cas will get bored, and either get rid of Sam, or have Sam drop his ruse, and things will get so much worse. He can imagine it: Getting chained to a hot-water pipe in the basement, Cas stalking in front of him and listing everything he's done wrong before adding it to his debit. Dean shivers at the thought of how much he owes already.

The water, the clothes, sitting in the chair, letting Sam carry him, sitting on the seat of the car rather than the floor, interrupting Sam...

It's so much it makes Dean want to cry. At this point, Cas may as well kill him.

But he still wants to see Cas. He still loves Cas. No matter how badly Cas hurts him, Dean will always love Cas, because that's what Cas wants, and that's what being good is. He just wants to see Cas, all he wants to do is be good. That's all he's supposed to do.

He doesn't want Sam's kindness, or drugless water, or clothes; all he wants it to be good for Cas. He rocks forward again, whimpering as the plug shoves more deeply inside of him.

Soft voices filter through to him from behind the door. Sam and Cas.

_Cas._

The door opens and Sam enters the room, followed by Cas, whose hands were now empty. Dean doesn't speak--he hardly dares to breathe. He watches Cas from where he's curled under the table, and lets his mouth drop open when Cas' eyes find him.

"Dean." Cas' voice is quiet and comforting. "I feel like we should talk."

Dean clenches his jaw shut and nods minutely. "Ye-yes, Cas." He wonders if 'talk' is Cas' way of telling Dean he's about to be fucked. His eyes flick over to Sam, who still has the same kicked-puppy look on his face as he did earlier. "Can we talk alone?" He swallows roughly. "Please?"

Sam and Cas exchange worried glances, but Cas sends him away anyway. Dean breathes a sigh of relief; at least Sam won't need to see this.

Cas walks closer, then sits, legs crossed, about five feet away from Dean. He's thinking, looking at Dean like he's something to understand, and not just a warm hole who has probably caused more trouble than he's worth. Dean wonders if he's supposed to move. There's no way Cas is going to fuck him if he's under the table, and he doesn't want to be dragged out from under it. Still, Cas doesn't tell him to move, so he stays put.

"There's a few things you should understand." Cas' words are clear and calm--not the angry calm Dean is used to, but a peaceful calm, like ocean waves on a clear night.

Dean keeps his eyes on Cas, and nods.

"We're not going to hurt you. Do you understand?"

Dean nods. "Yes. Thank you, Cas."

Cas grimaces, but keeps his voice even and light. "I'm not who you think I am. I don't know all of what that monster did to you, but it was horrible, and you've forgotten a lot." He sighs and bites his lip, thinking before he continues. "The thing that did all of that to you is dead now. I killed him. Does that make sense?"

 _No._ Dean nods. He can pretend for now, he'll figure it out later.

"You're safe now, and you can do whatever you want." Cas looks at Dean expectantly.

Dean nods, crawling forward slightly, until he's just in the shadow of the table.

"That's all," Cas finishes.

"You're not going to fuck me?" Dean asks.

Cas' face pales slightly. "No. Never. You never need to do anything like that again."

"You're not going to let other people fuck me?" Dean sticks his toes out from under the table. He can't believe what he's hearing. He has so much to pay for, there's no way Cas is just going to forgive _all_ of it.

"No."

Dean just stares. There's no way. This can't be happening. He can practically feel a weight lift from his shoulders. He's been forgiven. He's good. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. "I was good?"

"Dean, you've always been good." Cas' icy blue eyes are soft and open, full of honesty and love.

"And I can..." He trails off, his question hanging on the tip of his tongue. Unease prickles under his skin. "Can I take the plug out?"

Cas' warm expression drops. "What?" Something akin to horror flashes across his face.

Dean flinches back. "I'm sorry," he whimpers. "I'm sorry, I won't ask again."

"No, Dean, it's okay." Cas raises his hands and sits back. "I'm not mad, just confused. What plug?" The worry on his face is evident, as is the confusion.

"The..." Dean blushes. It's always humiliating to talk about this. "The plug in my ass," he whispers.

Cas' eyes widen in horror. "Get it out," he orders, and his voice is so commanding it makes Dean's breath freeze in his lungs.

Dean spurs himself into action, unbuttoning the jeans hanging off his hips and pushing them down, along with his threadbare boxers. He reaches back, finds the ridge of the plug between his asscheeks, and pulls. The plug thunks to the floor, and come gushes from Deans gaping hole. He lets out a choked noise of relief as the white liquid pools on the floor under him, and he falls back, almost hitting the table.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Thank you, Cas." He's blissfully empty, and this is the best he's felt in god knows how long. "Thank you. I can be good now." He's babbling, and he knows that he should shut up before something happens to him, but he's so thankful he can't seem to stop himself. "Thank you. I was good, right? Thank you." He sighs and looks up at Cas, eyes hooded and glassy with relief.

"Dean," Cas sounds scared. "How long had that been in?"

"Since last night?" Dean says. He isn't quiet sure, but it's been in a while. He's had them in for longer though.

"Oh." Cas looks like he's trying to stay calm, but Dean can see the panic behind his eyes. "We need to get that out of you." He pauses and meets Dean's confused gaze. "All of it."

Dean looks down at himself, at his ruined, puffy hole, still oozing come. "All of it?" He shudders, stomach clenching.

"Yes, as soon as possible." Cas stands up and angles himself towards the hall, but keeps his eyes on Dean.

Dean nods, pushes himself into a sitting position, and jams his fingers down his throat. He retches and heaves, spitting up more come. Cas steps back a few feet in shock.

"Was that good?" Dean asks. "Was that okay?" His shirt is soaked in come and water, but he doesn't care. He just wants to be good. "I got it all out. I was good."

Cas nods shakily. "You were good," he assures, walking forward and kneeling in front of Dean. "We just--we need to clean you up." He holds out a hand to Dean, and Dean takes it with his non-puke-covered hand and lets Cas pull him out from under the table. He's shaky on his feet, and throwing up hasn't helped his situation. His vision darkens and he stumbles forward into Cas.

"'M sorry," he mumbles. "I'm... fuck." His pants are still down and both his hole and cock are on display. He's disgusting, nothing more than a cheap whore. "Don't..." His vision fuzzes out again. "Don't... I can fix it. I can be good." He steps back, away from Cas, and feels himself slip in come with a sort of detached horror. His head slams into the table, Cas shouts, and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :)  
> Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> See you all in a few days.
> 
> <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up in a bed.
> 
> He's not supposed to be in a bed.
> 
> He's not allowed--
> 
> Cas is here. Shit.

_"Oh, Dean," Cas murmurs from somewhere above Dean. Cas' steps splash through blood, vomit, and come as he circles Dean. "You're trying so hard," he says, crouching to Dean's left. "Look at me, babe."_

_Dean cracks his heavy, sandy eyes open and tries to focus on Cas. He mostly succeeds, and looks up at Cas with half-open, glazed eyes. Cas' tanned skin is covered in drying blood, and there's a cruel grin on his face. Still, any sort of smile is a smile, and that means Dean has been good enough to earn it._

_"Am I..." Dean whines as Cas prods his aching, bloody side. "Did... am I good?"_

_Cas tugs on a lock of Dean's hair and Dean winces._

_"No," Cas mutters quietly, his words cutting Dean to the core. "You tried to run away, remember? You hurt yourself." Cas' clicks his tongue. "Look what you did," he sighs disdainfully, looking up and down Dean's battered body. "You're lucky I was there to stop you."_

_"Yes, Cas," Dean whispers, his voice rough and splintered._

_Cas tugs on Dean's hair again. "You owe me, remember?"_

_Whimpering, Dean tries his best to stay still. "Yes, Cas."_

_Cas' hand trails down Dean's body, ghosting over his overstimulated nipples and tight, aching stomach before finally taking hold of Dean's cock. Dean gasps softly as Cas thumbs over the head and rubs at Dean's slit. He can feel himself harden under Cas' careful movements. Dean lets himself start to cry as Cas continues._

_"Stop," he sobs. "Please. Please, Cas, I'm not allowed." He shudders as Cas tugs gently on his balls._

_Cas laughs. "What's that, whore?" He removes his hand to spit into it before returning his attention to Dean's cock._

_"I'm not allowed. You said--you said I'm not allowed to come. You said it was bad." He clenches his fists and writhes on the floor as Cas continues._

_"I know what I said," Cas whispers, leaning down closer to Dean. "And it is, Dean. It's very, very bad." Cas' gaze flicks down to Deans flushed, hard cock. "But look at you, you're so close." He strokes Dean's cock again, gently. "Are you going to come for me?" Cas purrs, his voice soft._

_Dean whines and arches his aching back. "No. No. I can't. I'm not allowed."_

_"But Dean," Cas_ tut-tut _s. "I've worked so hard to get you like this. Are you really going to throw away my work, just like that?" He gently squeezes Dean's cock, which prompts a soft whimper from Dean._

 _"I can't. I_ can't. _You said I'm not allowed." But he can't move away, either. He can't refuse anything Cas offers him, because that' bad, too. No matter what happens, Dean is breaking a rule, but which one is worse? And even if he doesn't come now, Dean is almost certain Cas will find a way to make him come later. "Please. Please don't make me."_

_Cas acts as if he doesn't hear Dean's pleas and redoubles his efforts. Dean fights it as hard as he can, but he's so weak, so tired, and so hopeless that he doesn't last five more minutes._

_He comes with a cry, watching in horror as he paints his stomach with white stripes of shame._

_"Oh, Dean," Cas murmurs, his hot breath ghosting over Dean's face. "You've been so bad. I think we need to fix that."_

_Cas swings over to straddle Dean, and Dean howls._

***

Dean jerks awake with a gasp.

It's dark, and he's sweaty and wrapped in cloth. Everything aches, and he feels so, so sick. His stomach is in knots, and he's so stiff he can barely unbend his limbs. His mind is still a little fuzzy, though whether it's the last of the drugs in his system, or just pure exhaustion, Dean doesn't know. His scalp feels bruised, and he's so _empty._ It's a good feeling, even if it hurts.

There's nothing inside him that shouldn't be--no come, no plug--and it's amazing. He's barely processed the fact that he's not filled or bound and gagged when panic freezes his body.

He's in a bed.

_Fuck._

He's not supposed to be in a bed--he's not allowed. Cas is gonna beat the shit out of him. Dean doesn't even know how he got here. The last thing he can remember is throwing up because Cas had asked him to, and Cas was going to take him to the bathroom to 'get cleaned up.' Then Dean had slipped.

And now he's here.

Sam or Cas must have put him here as a test, and Dean is determined not to fail. He stretches out an arm and grabs at the edge of the bed, pulling his stiff body to the edge before rolling off. He lands heavily on his back. His chest erupts in pain as the breath rushes out of him, and he lets out a wheezy gasp. Clutching at the carpet, he struggles to pull in a breath.

 _It's okay,_ he tells himself. _It's okay. I got out of bed. I was good._ He pulls in a shuddery breath. _Maybe Cas will only hurt me a little._

Through ringing ears, he registers footsteps. He freezes again--he hadn't meant to wake anyone up. Fuck. He turns his head to the doorway and sees Cas.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Cas' voice is rough, most likely from sleep, and he sounds worried.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" He hiccups, his shoulders shaking with unreleased sobs. His chest burns, he hurts, he's empty, and he's been so _bad._ "I didn't--didn't mean to!"

"Didn't mean to what?" Cas asks, coming closer and kneeling down next to Dean, but not touching him. "Dean, you're not in trouble."

 _Stop lying!_ Dean can feel his chest constricting and wheezes around tears. "No," he moans. "I've been bad." He hiccups around his tears. "I'm not--not--not supposed to be on a bed unless someone's-s-s fucking me." He shuts his eyes and scratches at his chest through a thin shirt he had somehow ended up in.

Cas grabs Dean's wrists and pulls them away from his chest. Dean whines, but doesn't fight it. He's far too tired.

"You're not bad, Dean, it's okay." Cas lets go of Dean's wrists and runs a cool hand through Dean's sweaty hair.

"'T's not," Dean slurred turning on his side, towards Cas. "'Nd earlier. With the water an' the clothes, an' the chair." He sobs again and reaches for Cas' crotch. _"Please,"_ he gasps, groping for the waistband of Cas' sweatpants. Cas shuffles back, into the bed. "Please. Let me. I need to. I need to be good. Please." He reaches out again, and Cas grabs his hand.

"You _are_ good, Dean. You haven't done anything wrong. You don't need to do this."

_No. Please. Please. I can't have any more debt._

"I do," Dean insists. "I've been bad. I've been so bad and I deserve to be used. I need to be. I owe you." He curls into himself. "I need to. I can be good. I can pay." He pulls his hand away from Cas' and grabs for Cas' sweatpants again. Cas pushes him away again and Dean sobs.

"What do you think you did wrong?"

Cas had done this before. He'd ask Dean to list everything he had done wrong, and say Dean had forgotten something no matter what. And anything that Dean missed would only cause more pain.

"I sat in a chair," he starts, his voice shaking. "Talked out of turn, took too much water, let Sam carry me because I was too weak to walk, slept in a bed..." That's all Dean can think of in his panicked state, and he knows he's missing so much. He's been so bad.

"You have a right to do all of that," Cas says softly, placing a light hand on Dean's shoulder. "You're human. You deserve these things."

"I'm not human," Dean mumbles into the floor. "I'm just a comedump, and I've--" his chest squeezes again "--I've been bad. Please let me pay."

"Dean, you weren't bad, I promise."

"I was," Dean insists. "I broke all your rules and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm _sorry_ just please let me pay!" The words come out weak and jumbled, but they're out there, and to Dean, explaining himself is all that matters. "It'll be quick. I'm good." He sobs, and returns to begging when Cas doesn't say anything. _"Please!"_

He can't do this. He can't wait for Cas to rip him apart later. It's going to be impossible to live with the extra debt he's accumulated today. Dean starts nervously scratching at his forearms.

"Please," he whimpers, pawing at Cas' thighs. "I need to. I have to be good." Tears stream down Dean's cheeks, and he knows he looks like a mess, but it doesn't matter--he _needs_ to be good. Nothing is more important than that.

Dean's breath is running rampant and he knows that he's on the edge of a panic attack, if not actively in the middle of one. He needs to calm dow, but he can't, even with Cas' kind (and gentle, _far_ too gentle and forgiving to be real) words, which only seem to make the whole thing worse.

Cas isn't supposed to be nice. He isn't supposed to tell Dean that he's always been good and let him sleep in a bed and--

Dean whimpers into Cas' leg. He just wants everything to make sense. He doesn't care if it hurts, he just needs to understand.

"Please," he whispers. He clenches his fists and his nails cut into his skin. "Please." He's shaking so hard it hurts. _'You have to be good,'_ Cas whispers inside his head. _'You know what happens when you're bad.'_

"Dean?" Cas' voice sounds strained, and Dean forces himself to look up.

"Yes, Cas?" He whispers, his words weak and quaking. _Please don't hurt me. Just let me be good. Please._

"If I... If I let you do this, will you..."

"I'll make it good," Dean interrupts. "I promise. Please." His voice breaks at the end as he tries to force himself to stop shaking. Cas doesn't like it when he shakes. He can't stop. _Just another way you've screwed up._

"Is this going to..." Cas trails off, like he's not quiet sure how to word when he wants to say next. "Help you?" He finishes.

"Yes," Dean whispers. Anything that makes Cas feel good makes Dean feel good. It's okay so long as he's being good. All that matters is that Cas feels good. "Yes. Please." He whimpers and drops his head back against Cas' thigh. "Please let me be good."

"You can--" Cas takes a deep breath "--you can be good." He sounds slightly pained, but the words are everything Dean needs to hear. A rush of warmth floods through Dean's panicked body, and he feels himself relax slightly.

"Thank you," he moans. "Thank you, master." Dean can't stop the pleasant shudder that runs through his body after Cas is done speaking.

He gestures for Cas to sit in a chair offset from the bed, and Cas steps over him and sits in it. He looks nervous, though Dean can't imaging why.

"Thank you," He repeats, tugging Cas' sweatpants down and freeing his limp cock. Dean shudders again as he looks at it and feels his own cock stir slightly. He leans down slightly and licks a stripe up Cas' dick before taking it entirely into his mouth. He lets out a relived sigh and sucks, groaning as Cas' cock twitches and starts to harden.

Cas lets out a strangled noise half way between a gasp and a moan, and shuts his eyes tightly.

"Is this okay?" Dean asks, pulling off.

Cas nods minutely. "You're good," he affirms, voice tense and strained.

"Thank you, Cas," Dean whispers before he swallows Cas down again until his cock hits the back of Dean's throat. _Don't gag,_ he tells himself, trying to keep he throat open. The heavy, suffocating weight is comforting in his mouth, and Dean relishes it as he takes Cas in further. Cas normally likes that. Then again, at this point, Cas has usually started fucking his face so hard that Dean is on the verge of unconsciousness, so who can really say.

Dean's throat works around Cas' cock, and Cas makes an aborted attempt to thrust forward. _Yes,_ Dean thinks. _Please. Be rough. Hurt me. I deserve it._ He moves one of his hands up and pumps it around the base of Cas' dick.

He should be able to take all of Cas, he realizes with a jolt. He needs to. Swiftly, Dean removes his hand and forces Cas' cock more deeply into his throat.

Cas moans and clenches his fists against the chair arm. _That hand should be in my hair,_ Dean thinks, humming around Cas' cock and reaching up to tug at his balls. _That_ gets him. Cas thrusts forward a couple inches and Dean takes it all, drooling as he starts to choke.

_Good. You're good. Cas likes it when he makes you choke._

Dean pushes forward again and-- _yes_ \--he has Cas entirely in his mouth. The feeling makes Dean's already half-hard cock twitch. His chest burns as he struggles to take in a breath, so he backs off a couple inches, breathes, and forces Cas back down his throat. Cas' hips stutter forward again, cutting off Dean's breath, and Dean feels the tension drain from his body as he struggles to breathe. This is how it should be.

This is how it should always be. Him, being good for Cas. Forever.

He hollows his cheeks slides back a few inches, just enough to breathe, before surging forward again. Cas stifles a groan, breath hitching as he resists the urge to fuck forward into Dean's mouth. Dean stays where he is, sucking and moving his tongue in the exact way he knows Cas loves until his mind starts to short out from the lack of air. Still, he doesn't pull back.

_Good good good gotta stay good be good for Cas gotta be good stay good good for Cas--_

Cas shoves himself back, and suddenly Dean can breathe again. He takes a quick breath and licks over Cas' slit, which causes Cas to shudder.

"Dean," he groans, arching his back. "Close," he breathes. "Close."

Dean hums and swallows Cas back down again, ignoring his own throbbing cock. He pumps the base of Cas' cock again, and Cas whimpers.

"Don't swallow," he rasps, right before he comes.

Familiar salty, white liquid gushes into Dean's mouth and dribbles down his spit-slicked chin. He shivers and paws at his achingly hard dick. _Don't. Cas won't like it. Be good._ If he fucks up he'll need to pay even more. He forces his hands to his sides. _Be good._

Cas looks down at Dean through hooded, pleasure-glazed eyes. "Spit it out," he says breathlessly.

Dean retches and spits as much come out of his mouth as he can. "Was I good?" He asks.

"Yes," Cas answers quietly. "You were so good, Dean." He tilts his head back against the chair. "You're good."

Dean collapses to the floor, boneless. He was good. It's okay. Cas isn't going to hurt him.

Dean closes his eyes. The floor isn't soft, or warm, but it's enough for him. He hears Cas climb out of the chair and sit next to him.

"Dean."

"I was good," Dean mumbles sleepily. "Don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Cas whispers. "No one is ever going to hurt you again."

"Thank you, Cas," Dean whimpers. "I love you."

"You don't need to say that," Cas sighs.

"Yes I do," Dean mutters into the floor. "I love you. You make sure I don't hurt myself and take care of me. Of course I love you."

Cas wants to cry. Dean had said 'I love you' to him once before this, and he had looked more terrified when he said that then Cas had ever seen him. Now, all Dean looks is resigned, and horribly relaxed.

"That wasn't me," Cas whispers. "I didn't do any of that to you. I would never hurt you, Dean. Not if I was in control of myself." He wants to lift Dean from the ground, hold him close, and make sure he knows he's safe, but Dean won't understand any of it. If anything, he'll just beg for Cas to do some fucked-up thing to him until he throws up. The blow job was bad enough, but it had stopped Dean from hurting himself. That doesn't make it okay, but Dean is still intact.

Intact, and completely, disgustingly relaxed.

Dean doesn't respond, and upon looking down, Cas can see Dean has fallen asleep. He's curled tightly on his side, an arm pillowed under his head. Come and spit coat his chin and stain his shirt, and and the position he's in doesn't look the least bit comfortable, but somehow, Dean is asleep. His stomach growls loudly and Cas realizes with a jolt that he doesn't know how long it has been since Dean has eaten.

Cas gently shakes Dean's shoulder.

Dean perks up immediately, eyes wide. "'M sorry, I can be good."

"It's okay Dean," Cas assures.

Dean drops his head back to the floor and closes his eyes again. His stomach howls and he curls up slightly, wincing.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" Cas asks. "Real food," he clarifies a moment later.

Dean blinks up at Cas, his eyes bleary. "Few days," he mumbles, then closes his eyes again. "I'm not hungry," he lies.

"You need to eat," Cas insists. "And clean up. Stay here, I can bring you a new shirt." Cas stands and walks away. Dean closes his eyes and sighs. All he wants to do is go back to sleep. He doesn't think he can bear whatever humiliating garment Cas is going to make him wear, or keep down the rotted food Cas will do doubt try to force down his throat.

Dean curls up more tightly as he hears Cas approach again, and shivers when he feels a light hand on his arm. He opens his eyes and looks at Cas before he can be asked, and is pleasantly shocked when he sees Cas is holding a soft, dark shirt. Head tilted, he sits up and leans against the side of the bed. He braces himself for the irritating push of the plug inside of him, but it doesn't come.

"Can you lift your arms?" Cas asks.

Dean nods and grimaces as he lifts his arms over his read. Muscles stretch under his skin, and he stifles a noise of pain. Cas tugs Dean's shirt off carefully, then hands Dean the new shirt, which he manages to put on on his own. He leans back, and flinches as Cas cleans come off of his face with a clean cloth.

"Thank you, Cas," he mumbles.

He tenses when Cas picks him up unexpectedly, and stays frozen as Cas carries him out of the bedroom. Dean can feel Cas' muscles flexing under the thin layers of fabric between them, and thinks about how long it would take Cas to kill him if he wanted to. Not long at all.

Dean squeaks as Cas sets him down on the counter a couple feet away from the stove. _Shit. No. Not the stove. I was good. I thought I was good._ Tears well up in his tired eyes and he starts to shake.

"Please don't burn me," he whimpers, pushing himself away from the stove and into the corner. There are dark stripes of skin on his inner thighs where Cas had burned him before. It was a few weeks ago, if Dean's method of judging time is anywhere near accurate, but that doesn't mean Cas is above doing it again. Dean shivers as his own screams ring in his ears.

"I'm not going to burn you," Cas says, his voice gentle. "You need to eat. I'm making you soup." He turns his back to Dean and walks across the room to liberate a can from its lonely spot on a pantry shelf.

"You-you don't need to do that," Dean stutters. He pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them, trying to make himself as small as possible. "I can eat whatever you give me. I won't throw up this time." Dean can't tell if he's lying or not. His stomach turns at the thought of his most recent meals. Moldy bread, spoiled meat, and a couple shriveled vegetables.

Horror flashes briefly across Cas' face before he covers it with a fake smile. "It's okay, Dean. It's not much trouble. I'm not going to make you eat bad food." He pops the top off of the can and dumps it into a small pot on the stove before he turns the burner on.

"I'm not very good at cooking," Cas says as he goes looking for a spoon. "But I can heat up soup most of the time."

Dean nods and wonders if Cas is going to pour boiling soup into his mouth and force him to swallow it.

"I don't know if you remember this, but you used to cook a lot," Cas continues, his expression slipping into a frown as he mentions Dean's lack of memory.

"Oh." Dean remembers vaguely, but doesn't say anything. Remembering is bad.

They both go quiet as Cas stirs the soup, watches Dean for a moment, and grabs a bowl to pour the soup into. A moment later, there's a bowl of soup in front of Dean, and a packet of crackers next to it. There's a warm fuzziness at the edges of Dean's vision, and he yawns. The soup smells good, and he's so hungry, but it's unspoiled, _good-looking_ food, and Dean isn't allowed. That kind of food is for Cas. It's bad to eat it.

"You can eat it," Cas says after Dean has stared at the soup for a minute.

Dean shakes his head. "No. I'm not allowed." His voice quakes on the last word. He's _so_ hungry, but he can't eat this. It's just another test. If he passes, Cas will be happy with him and tell him he's good. His stomach rumbles painfully.

"It's just soup Dean," Cas coaxes. He looks tired. Dean cringes inwardly when he realizes he's probably the reason Cas is so exhausted.

"Not hungry," Dean grunts. It hurts to talk to Cas like that, but he needs to pass. He can't break any rules.

"Just eat a little?" Cas asks. "You need to. I don't want you to get sick."

That's a lie. Dean has been sick before, and Cas was happy that it kept him tired so he was easier to fuck. "I'm not sick." He closes his eyes and digs his fingernails into his legs hard enough to leave a mark. "Please, Cas. I don't want to be bad. I don't want to break your rules. Please."

Cas' face falls. "Forget the rules." He pushes the bowl forward again. "I just want you to eat."

"I can't forget them," Dean says, on the edge of pleading again. "You said I'm not allowed. I don't deserve good food. I'm just a slut, and sluts don't deserve to eat. All I'm good for is fucking, and you can fuck a corpse." He blinks tears back as he repeats Cas' words. "I'm lucky."

Cas looks so angry. His jaw is set, and his body is so tense that it seems like he could snap at any second. Then he sighs, and the fury drains from his body. "I made the rules, correct?" He asks.

Dean nods. "Yes, Cas."

"And I can make new ones?"

"Yes, Cas." Dean rests his head on his knees.

"You need to eat the soup in front of you. Just a little. I don't care what other rules you're breaking by doing this. You won't be punished for it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Cas. Thank you," Dean murmurs. He reaches forward and pulls the soup to him. He can do this. He can be good for Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we've only got a couple more chapters after this. I might write some oneshots based in this au, if you guys are interested. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> See you all in a few days!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean remembers. Whether what he remembers is real or not, he doesn't know.

Dean wakes up to Cas flicking on the lights in the kitchen. His vision is bleary, and he blinks the sleepy film out of his eyes with a whimper. His back aches from how he's been sleeping, but he's had worse, so it's okay.

"G'mornin' Cas," he mumbles.

Cas looks down at Dean, eyes soft and worried. "You slept out here again?" He asks. "You have a bed, Dean." He takes out the coffee grounds and sets water to boil.

"Beds are for fucking," Dean says. "There's no other reason I should be in one."

"I told you you can--"

"I know what you said," Dean says to the floor. "But I--" He draws his shoulders up to his ears. "I need to be good."

Cas sighs and pours boiling water over the coffee grounds.

It's been almost a week, and Dean hasn't gotten much better. He barely eats, he won't speak unless it's to beg for someone not to hurt him, or to ask Cas if he's doing something wrong, and he sleeps even less than he did before. Cas can make him eat or sleep if he gets too worried, but messing with any rule that the shifter had implemented only serves to make things worse in the long run.

Getting Dean to remember certain things seems impossible to do. The first few months of his captivity are all just a blur, and all that came before that is twisted by everything the shapeshifter did to him. Cas had thought things would become more clear after the drugs worked their way out of Dean, but, other than Dean being slightly more alert, nothing has changed.

It's horrible, and Cas just wishes he knew how to help. Sam does, too, even though him and Cas skirt around the topic as much as they can, and Sam spends almost all of his time away from the bunker, looking for anyone associated with the monster that took Dean and broke him so completely. Still, Cas knows guilt is eating Sam alive.

It's eating him, too.

Dean pushes himself to his feet and leans against the counter. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No." Cas opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of almond milk. He opens it and splashes some in a mug.

"You look angry." Dean sighs, his expression pained. "Can I--" he drops to his knees "--can I help?" He licks his lips.

"No."

"Please?"

Cas pours two cups of coffee, and puts one on the floor next to Dean. It makes a soft clinking sound, and Dean looks down at it.

"I just want you to remember," Cas whispers. He sits on the floor next to Dean, and holds his coffee so tightly his knuckles whiten.

"I can't." Dean pushes his coffee away. "You told me to forget. You said I needed to forget how to be bad, so I..." Dean takes a deep breath. "I was good. I forgot. And if... if I remember, I'll be bad again."

"It's not bad," Cas insists. "It's the best thing you can do." He means it, too. He wants Dean to remember who he is more than anything. It doesn't matter if Dean is scared of him afterwards, he just wants Dean to know who he is.

"Okay," Dean whispers. He's so quiet Cas almost doesn't hear him. "I can be good."

They sit there in silence until Sam comes into the kitchen, dressed to go running. He's been running a lot recently.

"Morning, Cas," his gaze darkens slightly in sadness, "Dean."

"Good morning, Sam."

Dean dips his head slightly and fixes his eyes on the floor. He knows Sam is ashamed of him, so he tries to talk to his brother as little as possible. Still, Dean wishes he could hug Sam and tell him that it's gonna be okay, but it's not, and the thought of touching anyone makes his skin crawl. Except for Cas, of course. He can't feel bad when touching Cas. He has to enjoy it.

It's a rule.

Sam leaves, and Cas sighs.

Dean sits on the floor long after Cas makes his exit, staring into space, and trying to remember.

***

 _Remember. Cas told you it was good. It's okay. You can remember._ Dean sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. He's so tired, mentally and physically, and at this point, he doesn't know if it's still possible to remember.

No. That's wrong. He has to remember. Remembering is good, and if Dean can't remember--

_I'm bad._

_Breathe._ Dean shuts his eyes tightly and forces himself to breathe. He needs to be good, needs to pay for everything he's done. He needs to-- needs to--

Cas isn't here, and he'll get mad if Dean leaves and finds a way to pay on his own. A whimper works its way out of his throat. _You belong to Cas. You love him._

_Think about how happy he'll be if you remember._

Dean pulls his arms over his head, and thinks.

***

The most he gets for hours is just buried flashes of pain. A fractured rib here, Cas punishing him there, but it's nothing he hasn't seen before.

After a while, Dean focuses solely on the blank area. It's a space--at least a week--where Dean's memories switch from drug-fuzzy to completely gone. The edge takes a while to uncover, but from there, Dean is able to chip away at his missing memories and uncover a lot. It's mostly more of the same, back and back, until he's in the basement again.

Then something clicks, and the floodgates open.

_"Get the fuck off me!" Dean growls, writhing against the ropes tying him up._

_Cas leans over him, forearms braced on the joints of Dean's shoulders. "Don't be like that," Cas purrs, stroking Dean's cheek with a lube-and-blood streaked hand._

_Dean turns his head away and wonders if this is going to be the night Cas loses control and kills him. "Stop pretending you're him," he whispers, voice rough._

_"Who?" Cas asks. "I'm Castiel."_

_"You're not," Dean hisses, mostly to reassure himself. "Fucking wear someone else and I'll do whatever you want."_

_"I don't know what you're talking about," Cas hummed, fitting his fingertips along the joint of Dean's jaw._

_"Please. Just for a while," Dean begs. "Just a day--an_ hour! _I can't--" He's shaking too hard to speak at this point._

_"Just once," Cas enforces._

_Dean nods once, sharp and jerky. He needs this. He needs to know that this isn't really Cas. "Please," he whispers._

_Cas gets off of Dean, wipes his lubed-up hands on his slacks, and starts peeling off his skin._

Dean throws himself into the present with a gasp. _Shapeshifter._

He shivers, his clothes-- _too many, he's not allowed this many_ \--are soaked with sweat, and his entire body aches with painful tension. Tears stream down his cheeks and drip onto his hands.

That's not Cas. Cas is a shapeshifter. _Was_ a shapeshifter? He shivers again, cold and fear soaking into his bones.

The realization is strangely comforting, because _of course Cas wouldn't do this to him._ He loves Dean. He pulled Dean out of hell, and now he's pulled Dean out of the grasp of a shapeshifter. Cas saved him, and Dean couldn't even remember who Cas really was.

_Fuck._

He'd given Cas a blow job. He'd practically _forced_ Cas into it.

If that was even Cas. Dean knows it could be his brain tricking him, but Cas--the shifter. It was all a fucking shapeshifter. The shifter has played tricks on him before. Nothing this elaborate, but that could always change.

_Silver. Shifters are allergic to silver._

Dean forces himself to stand, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that tells him he's bad. It sounds like Cas.

_'You've been so bad, Dean. I'm going to have to punish you. Do you think you could grab me the knife and the big plug?'_

Dean tells it to shut up and nearly chokes himself. _Bad._

He takes a deep breath, and fumbles his way out of the kitchen. The way back to his room--or, what used to be his room, anyway--is easy and familiar enough, but Dean is so tired by the time he gets there that he almost falls onto his bed and just goes to sleep. Again, his brain--his fucked-up, conditioned brain--stops him.

_That's bad. Sluts don't deserve beds. You can sleep on the floor, if you're lucky._

Dean shivers and pops a small box open. He remembers one weekend, Cas-- _the shifter_ \--had told him he had been really bad, and had his friends fuck Dean until he was a drooling, gaping mess. At the end, Dean had fallen asleep three separate times, all on his hands and knees, all while being fucked roughly enough to make anyone scream.

The shifter had said he was lucky things hadn't been worse.

Dean paws through the box he had opened until he finds what he's looking for. A small silver blade, diamond-sharp, and exactly what Dean needs.

He grips it tightly and collapses against his bed frame.

He's so tired.

***

"Dean?"

Dean jerks his head up at the mention of his name. The knife is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he's curled tightly into himself. Somehow, in the middle of his unsanctioned nap, he had rolled partially under his bed.

"Dean?"

 _Cas. Not-Cas?_ Regardless, he forces himself the rest of the way under the bed. _Hiding is bad,_ his mind whispers. _Cas is gonna be mad at you. He's gonna fuck you until you pass out and tie you up so tightly your ribs crack._

"Dean?"

Cas is closer now, and Dean licks his lips on instinct before dropping his mouth open. _You can be good. It's okay. Get yourself ready and he might go easy on you._

"Shut up," he whispers to himself.

Cas enters the room, footsteps light, voice worried.

"Dean?" Cas sighs, turns around, and moves to leave the room.

 _Be good,_ the dark, conditioned corner of his mind begs. _You can still be good. Cas wants to know where you are. He needs to use you, and if you're not being used, you have no purpose. Be good. You don't want to hurt._

"Cas," he calls, cringing into himself as he did. "I-I'm here." He shuts his eyes so tightly he sees stars and tries not to cry. Why is he so damn _weak?_

There's a swishing of fabric from where Cas is, and a rustle as he lays down on the floor. "Why are you down here?"

Dean whimpers and adjusts his grip on the knife. He can't speak. He can't open his eyes. He can't even move. "Are you hurt?"

Dean doesn't even breathe.

He can hear Cas move closer, and nearly passes out when Cas wraps an arm around his waist and drags him out from under the bed.

_No. Don't. Please don't touch me._

Cas sits back from Dean. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

 _You need to be good._ Dean forces his eyes open and looks up at Cas. His blue eyes are wide, concerned, and gentle. Still, Dean can't trust them. He can't even trust his own mind.

Gritting his teeth and unlocking his muscles, Dean flips the knife in his hand, and swings it up at Cas.

He's weak, so weak, and so pitiful that Cas stops him immediately, and pries the blade out of Dean's shaking hand.

"I'm sorry," Dean sobs. "I'm sorry. I was bad, I remembered and I thought--I thought--" he sobs again, pressing his face into the floor. He doesn't know what he thought.

"Silver," Cas mutters. "Oh, Dean." He gently touches Dean's shoulder. "Dean, look. It doesn't burn me."

Dean squints through blurry, tear-filled eyes at the knife resting in Cas' hand. It's pressed flat to his skin, and it doesn't look like Cas is in pain at all.

"I..." Dean's breath hitches. "It's you. You came for me."

Cas' hand gently brushes through Dean's hair and Dean presses into the contact, then flinches away. His hand feels too much like the shifter's, and Dean sobs. That must have been what the shifter wanted. If he wasn't able to have Dean, he could at least break Dean enough so that nobody could.

"I'm sorry it took us so long to find you," Cas whispers.

 _It's fine. I deserved everything I got._ Dean chokes out another sob. "I gave you a blow job," Dean hiccups, chest burning with guilt. _You're no better than the shifter. You forced Cas into something he didn't want. You didn't want it either--not really. You monster._

"I f-f-forced you," he whimpers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He shivers. "I was bad. I'm a monster."

Cas' hand stills in Dan's hair. "No. Don't say that." Cas' voice is soft and even and _how is he so calm?_ How is he not disgusted with Dean? "Dean, you're good. I said that you could. I shouldn't have, but I did. I couldn't think of any other way to stop you from--from hurting yourself."

Cas is right. Dean knows that. Cas is always right. If he hadn't let Dean blow him, Dean would have torn himself apart. It was wrong on both ends, but Dean couldn't take it back any more than Cas could.

But it _is_ Cas in front of him, not a shapeshifter wearing his face. _Cas, who he violated and hurt and--_ Dean sobs again. He can't bring himself to look at Cas, because, if he does, he'll need to see Cas' face, and that awful, horrible look of sympathy.

So he doesn't. He just cries and apologizes until he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe two more chapters after this? Thank you for sticking with my so far. <3
> 
> (And thanks for reading! If you leave a comment I will send you a sliver of my slowly deteriorating soul!)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but here you go! I'll probably go back and clean it up later, but I really wanted to get this out.
> 
> Happy birthday to Dean! I'm so sorry I did this to you.

Eyes heavy, Dean looks around his room for the third time in a row. It's empty, because of course it is, and the door is locked tight, but he still can't relax. Every muscle in his body aches with tension, and the stress that is causing it doesn't show any signs of letting up.

He yawns and bunches a fluffy blanket around him. He had stolen it from the Dean-cave a couple days ago after he realized that his old one didn't keep the cold out when he slept on the floor. Sleeping in an actual bed still gives him a panic attack, and the thought of it alone is enough to make him start shaking.

He's allowed to sleep in a bed. He keeps telling himself that over and over, but it doesn't seem to matter. His brain is still hardwired to the shifter's rule, and he hates it.

Breaking one without Cas' permission is hard enough to make him sick most of the time, which isn't good when to makes a rare venture out of his room for food.

Most of the time he just eats whatever Sam and Cas have thrown out, or whatever is closest to expiring. It's not what he wants, but it's more food than he was ever given to eat when the shifter had him, and anything is better than that.

He still can't bring himself to look at Cas, though.

Cas would never do what the shifter did, Dean knows that, but they have the same face, and it hurts. He's scared of slipping back the second he sees Cas--or anyone, really--again. He can't go on like this forever, but he'll probably need to be dragged out of his room, or the bunker, kicking and screaming. Actually, it will probably closer to begging and quiet sobbing, if what Dean has been up to recently is any indicator of how things are going to be like in the future.

Whether he'll ever be able to hunt again, Dean doesn't know. He wants to. The wants to hunt and be normal, and wake up next to Cas--the real Cas--the way he used to before everything went so sideways.

He still loves Cas so much it hurts.

He and Cas had been sharing a bed before, but Cas has moved back into his old room now. It's for the best, but _god,_ Dean misses Cas.

***

Nightmares are nothing new, but that doesn't make them any more tolerable. More often that not, he ends up hard as some sick result of the dream, but it can't be helped, and Dean just bites his cheek until it goes away. Sometimes it takes a while, but Dean never ends up hurting himself over it. He's come close, though.

So he avoids sleep as much as possible. It's not a healthy solution, but--like everything else he's doing--it works for now.

Still, he drifts a lot, and exhaustion always catches up to him eventually. Case in point: now. Dean can feel himself slipping into the darkness, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

It consumes him, and he lets it. Maybe this time the nothingness will take.

***

_"Good boy," Cas murmurs into Dean's ear as he thrusts forward roughly. Dean lets out a high-pitched grunt and focuses on a spot on the ceiling. Relief washes through his body at Cas' praise, and swallows a moan as Cas grinds their hips together. The friction irritates his already over-stimulated cock, and it hurts. Still, he can't say that._

_"Thank you, Cas," he rasps._

_Cas thumbs over one of Dean's nipples, and Dean lets out a surprised cry and jerks his hips up as the hot flash of pleasure-pain zings through his body._

Stop. Please. I just want to rest.

_Him and Cas have been at this for hours. Or, more rather, Cas has been watching as monster after monster comes through and fucks Dean until he screams. Now, with Dean thoroughly fucked-out, it's Cas' turn._

_Dean is too tired to fight against anything, or do more than squeak and squirm slightly when Cas does something that hurts. Not that Cas can do much to hurt Dean, what with him being so stretched out and numb already._

_Cas forces himself forward again, and Dean is so full already that he barely notices when Cas comes._

***

Dean wakes up sweating and scared. His shirt is soaked through, and the blanket around him is constricting and it's so hot--

He lashes out and pushes it off of him. His body is stiff, achy, and /burning/ with something that can only be a fever.

Sick. Of course he is.

Dean's mind is dragged from his sickness as he gains awareness of a sticky mess in his pants. It can't be anything but come.

 _You're not allowed,_ his mind screams at him. _You can't_. Dean tries to breathe, but his chest pinches in on him. _Cas might not know what you did now, but he'll find out--he always does, and then you're totally fucked. He'll force you to eat come until you burst, and when you fail he'll plug it up your ass._

A wheezy breath is all Dean can manage. His head pounds, and the sickness in his system only serves to cloud and spiral his thoughts. _You need to fix it. Fix it so Cas can't find out. You can fix this. Just..._

Dean chokes out a whimper as he catches sight of a light-colored splatter on his stomach where his shirt rides up. _You need to get rid of it. Can't leave any evidence behind._

A shudder wracks Dean's body and he gags, already able to taste salt on the back of his tongue.

_You need to do it. It's the only way Cas won't find out. Pinch your nose, shut your eyes, think of something else as you swallow. It'll be over before you know it._

_You can do this._

Dean takes a beep breath, tries to relax, and dry-heaves. Fuck. He can't--he _can't._

_I'm gonna die._

Suddenly cold, Dean starts to shiver. He's not going to make it out of this intact. Cas is gonna-- _not Cas, damnit!_

It's the shifter. It was all the shifter. Dean is safe now. Cas isn't going to hurt him.

Dean's empty stomach twists anyway. He shivers again, and stumbles to his feet.

 _Disgusting. Look at you--trying to pretend like you're human. It's laughable. As if you could ever be anything but a comedump._ He takes a deep, raspy breath, and tries to force the thoughts away.

_You're made for it. The perfect slut: weak, submissive... practically begging to be fucked. How long before Cas gets tired of trying to fix you, and takes advantage of your programming instead?_

"Stop!" He growls at the voice in his head. His stomach flips, and he spits a gross, sticky mouthful of whatever he managed to force down last night all over himself. His throat burns horribly.

_I wonder how Cas and Sam can even bear to look at you._

With shaky arms, Dean strips off his vomit-stained shirt and throws it as close to his door as he can. Boxers next.

He closes his eyes as he wipes the drying come off of himself and dumps the boxers right into the trash. _Cas won't hurt you,_ he reminds himself.

A shower would be ideal; Dean needs to get clean. It's been a couple days, and being covered in fever-sweat doesn't feel remotely pleasant, but he's so tired--almost too tired to move. He can't call for help. Not that Cas wouldn't show up, but Dean doesn't know if he could keep in his right mind if he saw Cas now. Sam is out on a hunt--not that Dean would want his brother to see him like this anyway--so he's out of the question, too.

Dean sighs, stuttering and pitiful, before wrapping the blanket he had been sleeping under tightly around him. He needs some clothes, and a better place to sleep.

His bed is right there.

Dean looks at the floor, thoughts of clothes forgotten.

_"Beds are for real people, Dean. You don't deserve one, not after all the mistakes you've made. Poor boy... if you're lucky I'll fuck you in one."_

Dean blindly pats the surface of his side table until he feels the soft texture of a flannel he had left there yesterday. He pulls it on, ties the blanket around his waist, and hauls himself to his feet.

 _Oh shit._ The world wobbles around Dean, and he nearly throws up again. Sweatpants are located and subsequently put on in a couple minutes. Feeling calmer, and more safe, Dean looks once more at his bed.

_Not allowed not allowed you're not allowed--_

Fuck that. Dean squares his shoulders and limps to his unused bed. He needs to rest, and this is _his_ fucking bed. Who cares if some deranged shifter told him he can't sleep in a bed?

He needs this. He can do this. He's allowed, and if his brain tells him otherwise, Dean will make his own rules. Body so tense it hurts, Dean forces himself to lay down.

The mattress is soft--so much more soft than what Dean has been sleeping on recently. It tugs Dean towards sleep immediately. He swallows, throat aching, and shuts his fever-burning eyes. The blanket over the mattress is thin, but Dean doesn't mind. He worms his way under it, does a mental check on where all of the weapons in his room are, and surrenders to the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comfort coming up next chapter (I hope!)! It might be a while, I'm having a rough time of it, mentally, but I love this story and won't abandon it--promise!
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean spirals a bit, and Cas makes him food (again).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay maybe one more chapter after this?  
> I'm sorry for the wait, my brain and workload decided they hate me and I spend half the week having a mental breakdown.

The fridge is open, and Dean is fighting not to run.

He's hungry--starving--and there's nothing in the trash. He needs to eat, though. He's _allowed_ to eat, but habits don't break easily when a person has been beat half to death for trying. He's been staring at various foods for close to five minutes, trying to force himself to choose something.

Fruit hurts his still-sore throat, and most vegetables don't go down easily either. Nothing does, really. There had been some kind of stupid-healthy vegetable soup in the fridge yesterday--probably Sam's--but it's gone now.

There's nothing Dean can eat that won't either hurt his throat like hell, or that Cas and Sam won't notice missing. In the back of his mind, Dean knows he can eat whatever he wants, but can't bring himself to eat more than a few bites at a time. Every time he does, his body rejects it.

Dean doesn't think his stomach shrank when he was... _in captivity,_ so to speak, but it has definitely grown unused to normal, _real_ food. It's pitiful, and wholly disgusting, but moldy bread seems more edible than than anything in the bunker.

_God, you're fucked-up. Is there anything you're not deranged enough to accept? Barely human, that's what you are._

"Shut up," Dean growls. He clenches his hand into a shaky fist and digs his bitten-down nails into his palm.

He jumps and spins around at the sound of Cas' quiet footsteps.

"Cas." Dean steps back, into the glow of the refrigerator.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," Cas says, sympathy painted across his face.

"'T's okay," Dean mumbles, wincing as the pain in his sore throat spikes.

Cas' eyebrows draw together in worry. "You're sick."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

Dean shivers. He should really close the fridge. "I'm--" he coughs into his arm "-- _fine."_ He steps away from the fridge and to the side, away from Cas. _He's not going to hurt you. You_ know _that, so why are you so damn scared?_

Dean knows why. Trauma doesn't disappear over night, and this isn't something that's just going to go away easily.

He needs to leave before something bad happens. So much for food. The room is wavy around him, and Dean isn't sure if that's from exhaustion, dehydration, or lack of food. Whatever it is, it's only serving to aggravate Dean's headache. It's horrible, and Dean just wants to stop hurting. For months, it's always been something or another, and even now that he's safe, he hurts. Sometimes Dean wonders if he's just made for pain.

He stumbles back, into the counter.

"Dean?"

Eyes closed. Head pounding at the sound of Cas' voice. Everything hurts.

He's so hungry.

"Dean, I'm going to touch you, is that okay?"

_No. Fuck no. I'm sorry I'm too fucked-up to let you take care of me. I'm sorry I can't do better. I'm sorry I was stupid enough to let myself get taken by the shifter. I'm sorry I broke so badly._

"It's okay." He's shaking so hard by the time Cas presses his cool hand gently against Dean's forehead that it's hard not to cry. But he can't. He has to be good. Can't say no. Can't cry. 

"You're burning up," Cas mumbles, pulling his hand away. "And shaking."

Dean nods. "I'm sorry."

"You're allowed to be sick, Dean. I just wish you weren't."

_You and me, both._ Dean pries his eyes open again and-- _fuck,_ it's bright--looks miserably at Cas. Dean knows he must look a wreck: skin sweaty, eyes bloodshot, shaking so hard he can barely stand. Still, Cas doesn't look disgusted, only worried and caring. _Don't cry,_ Dean tells himself.

He doesn't resist when Cas guides him to the table, or sits him down. He's too tired.

"Stay there," Cas says, walking back to the main part of the kitchen, pulling a drawer open, and grabbing a thermometer.

Dean blinks, and suddenly Cas is in front of him again, holding the thermometer out.

"Open?"

_Oh god. I can't. No. Please no. My jaw can't take it. Please don't fuck me. I didn't do anything wrong._

Dean opens his mouth, and Cas slips the thermometer under his tongue. He represses a flinch at the cold touch of metal on the bottom of his mouth. He holds the thermometer in his mouth, dips his head slightly, and waits for the _beep_ that says his temperature his been taken.

Cas sits down across from Dean and sighs.

"You need to eat. Do you think you can stomach soup?"

Dean nods slightly. He needs to eat, and Cas isn't going to poison him, no matter what his fucked-up brain tries to tell him. He's _safe._

So why can't he calm down?

Blinking numbly, Dean realizes his face is wet. He's crying. Great. Just goddamn great.

"Dean, can you hear me?"

And now he's gone and ignored Cas. He fucked up. Why can't he stop ruining things? He draws his knees to his chest and curls into himself. "I'm sorry," he hiccups.

"It's okay, Dean."

"'T's not." He has to listen. Has to pay attention to everything Cas says so he knows what to do.

"I just said that I'm going to make soup."

Dean nods around the thermometer. It beeps a couple seconds later, and Dean flinches back and spits out the thermometer. He cringes a second later when he realizes how stupid that was.

Cas grabs the thermometer and reads Dean's temperature. "103." He looks worriedly at Dean.

Cas stands and grabs a small mug from the drying rack before filling it with water and passing it to Dean. Dean holds it, but doesn't drink. His breath is raspy, and bubbles inside of him.

"Please drink it."

Dean lifts the cup to his lips and sips. He's too tired to disobey. The water is clean, and warm enough to soothe his throat slightly. He drains it quickly, and sets the cup on the table with a shaky hand. "Thank you."

"You need rest, and food," Cas says. "And I know you don't want to look at me, but I'm the only other person here, and I'm not going to leave you like this."

_Oh thank fuck,_ Dean thinks. Despite the terror that had coursed through his body upon first seeing Cas, Dean has calmed significantly. He doesn't want to be scared of Cas anymore. Cas is--was?--his boyfriend, and Dean _can't-_ -

He can't make Cas deal with this. He can't force Cas to keep looking after him, to keep waiting for him to get better when they both know that's something that will never really happen. He can't make Cas take care of someone who is scared of him.

But _god,_ Dean doesn't want to be scared of Cas. He knows it wasn't Cas who starved him for days, or tied him spread-eagle to a bed for a revolving door of monsters, but him and the shifter looked the same, and sometimes there's no difference in Dean's dreams.

He knows Cas loves him, and right now, all Dean wants to do is love Cas back.

Everything is so robotic between them now. Cas is scared of setting Dean off, and Dean is scared of Cas. Dean hates it--all of it--so much.

A ceramic _clink_ pulls Dean out of his thoughts as soup is placed in front of him once again.

Soup. Again.

Dean's mind flashes to his first night back in the bunker. Cas had made him soup then, too. Not much has changed since then.

Dean remembers more now, sure, but his mind is still scattered and... well, there's no word Dean can think of to describe himself but broken. He grips the spoon Cas had put in front of him so hard his knuckles turn white.

He turns the word over in his head, and mouths it as he lifts a small spoonful of soup to his lips.

_Broken._

"You're not," Cas says quietly, hesitantly.

"What?" Dean asks after he's forced down a mouthful of noodle soup.

"Broken, I mean," Cas elaborates. "I can read lips."

_Of course he can,_ Dean grouses to himself, staring down another spoon of soup. His stomach lurches, but he doesn't throw up. Small mercies. "You're lying."

"Damaged, if that's what you want to call yourself, but not broken." Cas reaches out carefully, slowly, and places one of his hands on top of Dean's hand that wasn't handling the spoon. "You will _never_ be broken."

Dean doesn't flinch. He blinks slowly, and tries to hold back tears. _Damaged. Not broken._ He lets go of the spoon and swallows painfully around his sore throat. _Damaged things can be fixed._

"You'll help fix me?" Dean asks.

"I'll help you heal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen, words are said, and Dean eats some more soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, friends! This is the longest, darkest thing I've ever written, and I am SO happy you all have joined me for the ride. 
> 
> <3

After the soup, Dean barely makes it back to his room before passing out for 14 hours. By the time he wakes up again, Sam has returned from the hunt he was on, and him and Cas are in what sounds like it could quickly become a fight. Initially, Dean turns his cottony head away from the noise, and tries to go back to sleep. This, however, proves impossible once his body registers the fact that he's in a bed.

Fear floods his body, and unneeded adrenaline forces Dean's exhausted mind back online. His body aches, his clothes are soaked with sweat, and his headache--which is really more like a migraine--has doubled in intensity. He pries his sticky eyes open, wincing as light assaults them, and rolls onto his side, which immediately prompts a painful coughing fit.

There's a loud crash from the main section of the bunker, followed by a shout, and Dean freezes.

"You left! You knew everything that was done to him, and you left him with me!"

Cas sounds furious, and Dean can feel his mind start to shut down. _Don't think. Sooner or later he'll come back to use you, and you need to be good._ He smacks himself in the head, and the thoughts stop.

"I'm sorry, but the more of these monsters we can wipe out, the better. Dean wouldn't want--"

"Stop talking about him like he's dead!"

"He might as well be!"

Maybe Sam and Cas go quiet after that comment, maybe they keep yelling, but Dean's mind, and any hope of processing words said, stops completely. He had known that he wasn't like he used to be, but Sam's words plunge his mind into a darkness so complete that, for a moment, Dean isn't sure he'll be able to drag himself out again.

_Sam thinks I should be dead._

The more Dean thinks about it, the better things would be if he was dead.

_No. Fuck. Stop--you're better than this. Sam didn't mean that._ Dean presses the sharp, jagged tip of his thumbnail into his palm to bring him back to reality. The pain grounds him, and he can see again.

Sam and Cas are still shouting. Dean's ears hurt. He hasn't started processing the words again, but they're both angry. He needs to stop this before it escalates. Shaky--he needs water--Dean forces himself to stand, and makes his way towards Sam and Cas. What they're saying becomes more clear the closer he gets, and from what it sounds like, Sam isn't angry so much as frustrated.

His voice has quieted--as has Cas'--significantly, and sadness has cracked it.

"I just want my brother back."

"I know."

"I don't think he's ever going to be the same."

Cas doesn't reply, but Dean can tell that he's thinking the same thing. He is, too. Dean knows he's never going to be the same, but he's trying. He's doing a shit job, but he's _trying._ He's beyond fixing himself completely, but is still clinging to the idea of being able to _seem_ normal.

Again, it's probably nothing but a fantasy.

Another cough wracks Dean's body, but he manages to brace himself against the wall so he doesn't fall. "Shit," he mutters, pushing off the wall and finally emerging into the room with Sam and Cas.

Sam is scrunched into a chair, tears in his eyes. Cas is on the other end of the table, leaning against the chair, arms crossed and jaw set. There's a broken lamp on the floor a few feet away.

"Hey." Dean waves awkwardly from the doorway. "You're back."

He tells himself to stay calm. He needs to act--to _try_ to act--like he used to. _Don't break._ He takes a deep breath. _You can do this. Sam will be happy if you act normal._

Sam looks up. "Dean! You're awake."

"Yeah." Dean nods. His heart feels like it's beating out of his chest. "My--" _don't stutter_ "--head hurts a little, but I'm fine." That's a lie, in more ways than one.

Sam looks pleasantly surprised. "That's... that's good."

"Uh, so you were on a hunt?" Dean asks, trying not to pick at his already bloody cuticles.

"Nothing big. Just a werewolf."

Cas' eyebrows jump slightly, worried. Dean takes this as his cue to back off. If he pushes too hard he'll break something inside himself, and Sam will take that hit, too. He can't do that to Sam.

Dean looks at the floor. _Mistake,_ he tells himself. The old Dean knew how to talk to his brother. Hell, the old Dean knew how to _talk,_ period. He's almost forgotten how to carry on a conversation.

"Oh. I'm gonna--uh--food." Dean makes what he thinks is a normal gotta-leave-before-I-ruin-things gesture, and bolts for the kitchen.

_Damnit._ He's not even hungry.

***

Dean pours a cup of coffee. He doesn't want it.

He takes a sip. It burns the back of his throat, and he winces. In the other room, Sam and Cas have resumed talking. Dean doesn't pay attention to their words, though. He's not sure he wants to hear what they have to say. The coffee disappears quickly, and Dean gags when he realizes how much he drank.

_It's just coffee. It's okay._

Dean shoves the mug away. He needs a drink. A real one.

He hasn't had a drink in close to a year.

No. He doesn't need it. He's gotten through this without drinking so far, and he can finish it out sober. He pours another cup of coffee. Drains it.

Maybe water would have been a better idea.

***

Dean is curled up on the floor, shaking from caffeine jitters. He hasn't had much coffee since he got back, so chugging four cups in 15 minutes to avoid listening to Sam and Cas was a mistake, and his newly unearthed anxiety is now through the roof.

_Cas hates you. Sam hates you. They're going to get tired of you, and they're going to leave. Sam wants you dead. Cas doesn't love you._

He shivers, and wishes he had the energy to grab a blanket. At least he locked the door so Sam and Cas won't see him like this. Tears soak his hair, unbidden and unwanted. He doesn't understand _why_ he's crying, only that he is, and he hates it.

He doesn't even feel sad, all he feels is weak.

Fucking coffee. Won't let him sleep. Dean contemplates throwing it up, but figures that enough caffeine is already in his bloodstream that it wouldn't matter.

Does any of it matter, really?

He curls up more tightly, closes his eyes, and tries to sleep. Shaking, tired, and entirely too worked up, Dean makes a valiant attempt to stop his tears.

He fails, of course.

He always does.

***

Resting on the floor when you're sick is a very, very bad idea, which Dean quickly realizes when he pulls himself out of a not-quite-unconscious haze. Someone is knocking on Dean's door.

"Hello?" He calls, wincing at his gratingly scratchy voice.

"Can I come in?"

It's Cas. Thank god--Dean doesn't know if he could handle talking to Sam right now. Dean shoves himself to his feet, unlocks, and opens the door.

Cas stands in front of him, looking small and worried.

Hey, Cas," Dean mumbles, leaning heavily on the door. His palms are sticky with sweat, and the rest of his body is shiny with it. The coffee settles uncomfortably in his stomach, and he bites his lip. "Whass--what's happening?"

"I just wanted to check on you," Cas answers. "You're still sick, and I--" Dean pitches forward, and just barely manages to catch himself on the door. Cas braces Dean with his hands, and Dean doesn't have it in him to flinch away.

Cas raises his hand to Dean's forehead and grimaces. "You're getting worse."

"'M fine," Dean slurs, stepping away from Cas. "I--I--I wanna rest. Need to sleep. I'll be fine. I just need to rest." Dean's breath has started to pick up, and he takes another step back. "I'll get better. I promise." His head is spinning, and he knows he's overreacting--Cas isn't going to hurt him, but his mouth isn't paying attention his his mind, and everything is suddenly moving too quickly, and--

"Dean, _breathe._ You need to calm down." Cas takes a couple steps back, hands raised.

Dean can't. He can't calm down. His heart is beating too fast and his knees are about to buckle and he _can't calm down._ He whimpers and crumples into himself, to the floor. Breath sticks in his chest and tears obscure his vision and he _hurts._

Cas kneels down to his level and places a hand very lightly on Dean's shoulder. "Dean. Please look at me. You need to breathe."

"Don't tell Sam," Dean begs. "He--he can't see me like this. He can't. Please." His hand is in his hair, and he's gripping it hard enough to sting. Breath still won't come. He so dizzy that he can barely see. "Y-y-you need--" Dean heaves in a breath. "You need to tell me to stop."

Cas opens his mouth, possibly to comply, possibly to protest, but Dean cuts him off before he can speak.

"Don't _ask."_ Dean grits out, tugging at his hair until he's ready to scream. His chest burns. _"Order."_ He sobs. "Please."

"I'm not going to do this to you," Cas says, his voice quiet and steady. "But, please, Dean. _Try_ to breathe."

Dean hiccups in a small breath, shuting his eyes and concentrating in an attempt to concentrate. His entire body aches horribly. "I'mbreathing," he wheezes, all one word. "Breathing." He stutters in another breath.

Cas rubs Dean's arm comfortingly. "Match my breaths."

Dean opens his eyes to watch Cas breathe, and makes an effort to do the same. _Slowly._

"You're okay."

Dean nods and sucks in another breath. He goes to breathe again and chokes on phlegm.

"Get it out," Cas murmurs, still rubbing Dean's arm.

Dean grabs the wastebasket next to his bed and spits into that. Exhaustion washes over him again, more powerfully this time. He coughs, sets his wastebasket to the side, and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his flannel.

His breaths are coming more evenly now, if slightly shallow, and he's thinking more clearly. Cas' hand is still on his shoulder, and--for whatever reason--Dean isn't scared. He leans into Cas' arm and lets himself breathe. He's so tired.

"I'm sorry," Dean mumbles.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

That's bullshit, but Dean doesn't say it.

He wants Cas to keep touching him, but he can't ask for that. He just wants Cas to hold him while he's not shaking with terror. That's greedy, though. Dean doesn't deserve to be held. God, he wants it, though. Eyes drooping, Dean lists further to the side. He hums contentedly when Cas draws him closer so he won't tip onto the floor.

Cas is warm and solid against him, and Dean wants nothing more than to cuddle in closer. Cas wouldn't hurt him if he did, right?

Of course he wouldn't. He loves Dean--there past few weeks are more than a testament to that. Dean moves closer to Cas, and Cas hesitantly slips his arm around Dean's shoulders.

"Is this okay?"

"Uh-huh." Dean turns his face into Cas' neck. "'M okay. Not scared."

Cas scoops Dean up and lifts him, bridal style, before depositing him onto his bed.

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"You need to sleep."

"I know."

Cas runs a hand through Dean's hair and sits on the edge of the bed.

"I heard what Sam said," Dean whispers to the ceiling. "About me being..." He swallows painfully. "Dead."

"He didn't mean that." Cas' answer is immediate.

Dean nods. "He wasn't all wrong." He sighs. "I'm--" he lets out a short, harsh sigh. "I am getting better." He gestures weakly at his bed. "Couldn't have done this a few weeks ago." He reaches up and brushes his thumb very lightly over Cas' jaw. "Or that."

Cas draws back slightly. "Dean--"

"Don't leave. Please."

"I don't want to hurt you." Cas looks down and picks at the blanket on Dean's bed.

"I won't let you." Dean grabs Cas' hand. "I just... I don't want to be alone."

Cas moves so he's sitting against the headboard and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to touch Dean is little as possible. Dean squeezes Cas' hand.

"Thank you." He closes his eyes.

Sleep drags Dean down quickly, and within minutes, he's sleeping soundly.

Cas looks over Dean's body, trying to catalogue everything. He's put on weight--not much, and he's definitely not healthy yet--but some, and all of his bruises have healed. There are a few light scars visible on his arms, and Cas knows there are much worse ones on his back, but they're healing, too. Physically, Dean looks worlds better than he had when Cas and Sam had found him in that basement.

He looks human again.

Cas goes to pull his hand away, but Dean doesn't let go. He pulls Cas' hand back, and lets out a pitiful noise. Cas relents, and stays. He leans his head back against the headboard and closes his eyes. Just for a moment.

***

Dean wakes up with a warm body pressed against him, and somehow manages not to freak out. His heart stutters in his chest for a second, but once he manages to force his eyes open, he realizes that he isn't in danger.

It's just Cas.

Cas is sleeping, half of his body hanging off the bed. His hand is still lightly gripping Dean's. Dean smiles slightly and squeezes Cas' hand lightly.

_He stayed._ Dean lets go of Cas' hand and pushes himself away far enough to his can prop himself up a bit. His body aches less than it had before, and Dean breathes a silent sigh of relief when he notices his fever seems to have at least gone down, if not broken.

Cas continues to sleep, completely dead to the world. He must be exhausted.

Dean clears his throat.

"I know you won't believe me if I say this when you're awake," Dean whispers. "You'll probably never believe me again." Cas snores lightly into a pillow. Nervousness trickles down Dean's spine, and he tries to force it away. Cas is asleep, he's not even going to hear this. "But I..." He swallows nervously. "I love you."

There it is. Said because Dean wants to. Not out of some twisted since of adoration that the shifter tried to program into him, or out of fear, but because it's true.

"I love you," he repeats, laying back down.

Cas doesn't answer.

Dean grabs Cas' hand again, and stares at the ceiling.

There are going to be good days, there are going to be bad days, and there are going to be days where Dean can barely remember his name. It's a slow road to recovery, and he's just at the beginning, but at least he's on the road.

He has Cas, he has his brother, and he's gonna make it through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Maybe... I've been thinking about writing some timestamps for this. (After all, Dean has a lot of healing to do, and I would love to write some self indulgent fluff :)) Would you guys read that?
> 
> Thanks again for reading! (Comments and kudos appreciated.)
> 
> <3


End file.
